#I am thinking that perhaps the reason it is so hard for me to connect with the pegasus natives is because they hate/are scared of the wraith

[girlscience]

Decided to start my rewatch with The Gift because I had fairly recently watched the other season 1 episodes and just wanted to jump straight in. It did make me laugh though, I was talking about Teyla earlier and I completely forgot that is a Teyla centric episode.

[obaewankenobis]

born to die ; finnick odair

pairing: finnick odair/reader (afab but i don't think i use pronouns? also no use of y/n)

word count: 6.8k

part 2: find here!

summary: having just finished your victory tour, you, the winner from district 4, are forced to confront the reality of winning the games. luckily, you know someone who's done this before — finnick odair.

warnings: mentions of violence, death, nightmares, blood, sex trafficking, i mean... it is the hunger games so read at your own risk! mutual pining, slowish burn, unprotected sex ( wrap it before u tap it ), p in v sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, idk it's not that bad. minors dni!

a/n: sorry to everyone who followed me for my star wars content... anyways here is my first finnick fic cause my friend made me watch the hunger games a month ago so here i am. i was super interested in the cashmere/glimmer theory so i kinda used it here. i have a prequel and a part 2 planned so lmk if you want that <3

There were things nobody ever told you about winning the games, things you wished you would’ve known before you tried so hard. Before you’d clawed your way up a cliff of desperate survival and emerged on top. Before you’d killed people — other children — to be able to stand here now. Your father, a former Victor himself, hadn’t told you about this side of things before he died. With a pang, you realized how badly you wanted him beside you, and how impossible that was. How you were now confined in shoes so tall you thought you might wobble over, in a dress so thin you were beginning to shiver, and a hairstyle that pulled uncomfortably at your roots. It all tied in for a look that was clearly meant to have all eyes on you. It was your victory party, you tried to reason as you slipped into the dress and noticed just how much of you would be on display. They wanted all eyes to be on you. It was okay.

You just wanted to feel beautiful again, to not be plagued with the feeling of revulsion when you looked at yourself in the mirror. The outfit wasn’t the problem, it was perhaps the most stunning thing you’d ever worn: a loose dress with billowing sleeves that fell off your shoulders and opened around the stomach, the silky material melting from transparency to a solid, pale purple around the parts that clung to your breasts and hips. The opalescent color, meant to mimic the expensive pearls commonly found in District 4, shimmered in the moonlight, threatening to turn even the solid parts translucent and expose every part of you to the Capitol.

Not that they’d mind, you thought, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth that threatened to rise to the surface, breaking through a perfectly painted smile and tugging your blush lips into a frown. You couldn’t help but feel that was the point, with all the oogling that no one was trying to hide. And that feeling… that is what kept you from feeling anything but beautiful. You felt used, and exposed, but not beautiful. 

A hand on your arm startled you out of your bitter thoughts, your skin immediately crawling with disgust as your gaze traveled to the face connected to the hand still placed possessively on you. While not particularly ugly, the man in front of you was pushing fifty, and the lewdness dripping from his gaze as he leered at you, an eighteen year old girl… 

“There you are,” his lips curled into an unpleasant smile; he was close enough you could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath, almost overpowered by the sheer amount of cologne that clung to him. “I must say, my sponsorship has paid off… handsomely. I mean, look at you! Such a stunning addition to the Capitol, I just cannot wait for you to become—”

“Excuse me,” a new voice — a familiar voice — cut through. “I think your wife is looking for you, Quillon.”

Of course he knew this man, he seemed to know everyone. And of course the man — Quillon — listened, his eyes widening as he immediately removed his hand from you, leaving an unpleasant dampness from his sweaty palms. He backed away until he had disappeared into the crowd and it was just you and him.

Him. Finnick Odair, Capitol Darling, youngest Victor of the 65th Hunger Games, the most insufferable and obnoxious boy you’d ever had the displeasure of encountering. You were sure he’d never liked you from the beginning; you’d tried to introduce yourself to him at fourteen when you accompanied your father to the Capitol to train the new tributes, only to be brushed off without a second glance.

That dislike had only seemed to grow when you had been Reaped the year your father had been killed (the rumors of the siblings and children of Victors being chosen so often finally making sense to you), and Finnick Odair, master of the Games, expert of the field, had all but ignored you.

“You!” All of the rage you’d pent up about his mentoring skills — or lackthereof — were coming out in full force, though even you were surprised by the venom in your words. With a jab of a finger in his chest, you finally began to let it all out. He seemed to have sensed that you would come at him swinging, grabbing your wrist and dragging you to a quieter corner of the party, beneath a small pergola weighted with vines that crept up the sides and wove inbetween the planks on top.

“Look, I know you must be upset — ” No. You wouldn’t let him talk, not before you had the chance to give him a piece of your mind. You took a step closer, until your nose was brushing against his, and tried to keep your voice as level as you could.

“Nice of you to finally fucking show up, Odair. Didn’t think you’d see me again, huh? Not after you all but fucking abandoned me during training week. I mean, I know we never really got along, but seriously? Is that why you left me with Mags and I never saw you past the first day? You hoped you’d train Kier—” the breath caught in your throat as you finally uttered the name of your fellow District tribute for the first time since… well, that wasn’t important. “—and then I would be out of your hair, is that it?”

Finnick, however, took this as an opportunity to spit his own words out, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard as he looked down at you. “I was trying to help you.” He was so close you could feel his breath fanning your lips, almost making you want to close your eyes.

“Help me?” A laugh escaped your lips, one that could’ve almost been seen as genuine because of the honest disbelief that coated it. “You think I’d be better off dead?”

He didn’t respond. Couldn’t even look you in the eyes, choosing instead to fixate on a tiny rose growing from within the depths of the ivy layers. That was basically a confirmation of what you’d just said, but for some reason he couldn’t even admit it to your face.

 You weren’t sure why, but hot, angry tears were beginning to form in your eyes; you tried frantically to force them down. He couldn’t know how much he’d hurt you with his indifference. “You were supposed to be there for me, you were supposed to teach me how to survive, and you fucking left me to die!”

Had you done something? You replayed all of your interactions with him, coming up short with a conversation that would make him hate you so much he wanted you to die. Sure, you’d been a bit annoying when you’d trailed behind your father, and maybe you had been a little relentless to pursue his attention when he moved next door to you in Victor’s Village, but this? The way he couldn’t even answer you? The way he was just standing there, his gaze in some far off place? It made you angrier. How dare he be so indifferent, how dare he act as if he was doing you a favor?

There was a moment of hesitation before Finnick sighed. “It’s not like that. I was trying to protect you. Look— has Snow talked to you yet?”

This left you truly at a loss for words. “Snow?” You words were less harsh and more curious. “Why would Snow want to talk to me? You know what — don’t try to spin it on him, this is about us! About you—” You stabbed at his chest again, and this time he let you. “—about you abandoning me in that arena, when it was your job to fight for me! To keep me alive!”

“There’s a lot you don’t understand right now,” he began again, hesitantly reaching out to grasp the hand that had struck against his chest, and that was the final straw snapping; you were done.

With a scowl and a tug of your hand, you yanked it free of his grasp and whirled around, the flow of the dress whipping around from the sudden gust of wind. “Whatever, Odair. I’m done. If you can’t even admit what you did was wrong, then… then just leave me the fuck alone from now on.” You didn’t bother to look back, missing the way his jaw hung open and his entire face crumbled. If only you had any idea.

You found out soon enough.

“You’re quite popular now, if you didn’t know that already. Although you’re quite perceptive, I can’t imagine you don’t.” Though he sealed the compliment with a smile, it did little to soothe the unease stirring within your belly.

“Yes, Sir. I’ve noticed. Is that a bad thing?” You hated how weak you sounded, your voice faltering slightly at the end of your sentences, hanging uncomfortably in the air and weighed down with uncertainty.

“I knew you were a smart one,” he finally tucked the envelope in his hands into his pocket, his undivided attention now on you. “You see, with how desirable you are… there are certain expectations that come with that. We wouldn’t want the Capitol to be unsatisfied, now would we?”

When did attention turn into desire? When were there suddenly expectations, and why was it suddenly your responsibility to keep people satisfied? 

“I’m not sure what you mean, sir.” A hollow, empty statement, but a genuine one.

“Well,” it seemed Snow was particularly delighted by your response, as if it allowed him to explain something that pleased him greatly. “Victors have their place in Panem, just as all the Districts do. What would Panem be without Eleven’s grain, or Five’s power?”

Realizing it was not a rhetorical question, that he really wanted you to answer, you stumbled through a response. “Well, I— I suppose it would topple the whole structure. We… we can’t survive without eachother.”

“You’d be correct. The same thing applies to the Capitol. Without everyone doing what’s required of them, the Games fail to run smoothly. With no… incentives, shall we say, people… sponsors… become uninterested. There are things you, as a Victor and a mentor, need to do to ensure that interest remains. Do you understand me now, my dear?”

You did, oh how you did. And that was the worst part.

That was how you got here on the rooftop of the Victor’s apartment complex, wrapping a thin robe around the once pretty, now torn chemise that did little to hide your body. You barely survived the first night, there was no way you could spend the rest of your life doing this. No amount of hot showers and scrubbing your skin raw until it bled could free you from feeling so dirty. Tears glistened on your cheeks, highlighting your face in the pale dawn light and exposing your true emotions to anyone who could see you. Luckily — or perhaps unluckily — you were all alone in the Capitol, your family safe and sound because of what you’d agreed to, but so far away.

With slow movements, you hoisted yourself onto the ledge of the roof, telling yourself you wanted to get a better glimpse of the city skyline as the sun crept higher into the sky, not wanting to admit the real reason why, even to yourself. The wind whipped all around you, tearing the robe from your body and splaying your hair in different directions, but you felt as close as you could to freedom. If you just— took another step, or stumbled forward and fell, maybe you would truly be free in the entire sense of the word.

“There’s a forcefield. They wouldn’t let you get away that easily,” the all too familiar voice of Finnick Odair startled you out of your thoughts.

“Did you know?” You had to ask, but couldn’t bring yourself to turn your head and look back at his features, because you would surely crumble if you saw the look on his face.

To his credit, Finnick didn’t bother to sugarcoat it. “Yeah, of course I knew. That’s why…”

“That’s why you wouldn’t train me. You wanted me to die, so I wouldn’t end up like this—” you whirled around sharply to stare straight into his eyes for confirmation as you guessed what you were going to say next. “—like you. Because he makes you do this too, doesn’t he?”

Finnick was never an easy person to read, always hiding behind dimples that indented in his cheeks when he flashed one of his dizzying smirks. But now? You felt like you were staring at a statue, his gaze unable to leave yours but also unable to say anything in return.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, allowing the cold caress of the breeze to take hold of you. If only you could fall back, if only… 

“I tried to protect you,” his voice cracked, finally pushing something past his lips and drawing you away from the dangerous thoughts fighting in your mind. “Don’t you see it now? It would’ve been better if you’d died in the arena, you wouldn’t have to do this,” he spat out the word like it was hot tea burning his tongue, but you noticed the crack of defeat in his voice. The way his shoulders slumped, the way his sea green eyes were fixed on his shoes. “And I… I wouldn’t have to see you like this.”

You did see it now; there was a fate worse than death. “I should’ve listened to you, Finnick.” His first name felt foreign on your tongue, as if you were speaking an intimate language only known to the both of you. “I— I’m sorry. I had no idea, I…”

He let your apology hang heavy in the air, flicking his eyes over your shoulder to the waking Captiol, evident by the honks of car horns and the chatter of thousands turning into a dull buzz.

You couldn’t stand silence, it reminded you too much of what followed your father’s execution, what followed when your name was called from the Reaping Bowl. So with a huff, you jumped down from the ledge and hoped he wouldn’t notice your disgruntled appearance.

Not that you cared what he thought of you. But one look from him and you were a goner; your lips began to quiver and you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Finnick, I… I don’t know how to do this,” a choked sob escaped you, and then it was all over and you were crying, shaking violently as you tried and failed to regain your composure. That seemed to snap him out of the haze he’d been in, his eyes flickering over and fixating on your figure, deep frown lines etching themselves on his face in a worried expression. “I don’t know if I can—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he didn’t hesitate to surge forward as you began to sway, the lack of sleep from the night before becoming evident in the dark circles beneath your bleary eyes, cracks in your skin holding onto tears that had long since been shed. He placed a careful hand near the small of your back, hovering over your skin before you fell back into it, like he was uncertain if you would be okay with touch. It reminded you of two nights ago, where he’d been so close to you but still kept his distance, not wanting to invade your space. His reluctance to touch you without your explicit permission made sense now, it all did.

“I just— I don’t—” Your body convulsed with gutteral sobs that sliced his heart in two, his fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you into his chest, allowing fresh tears to stain in the wool of his white sweater. “I don’t…” you tried again, wanting to continue despite the hiccups, “I just don’t… don’t… know what to do.”

You could feel his lips moving against your hair from where they rested on top of your head as he answered. “You don’t have to do anything. Not right now, at least.”

Time passing was the last thing on your mind as you remained in his embrace, soaking up everything about him, relishing in the comfort his closeness brought to you. How when your mind began to wander, the rhythmic pattern of his heartbeat brought you back so you could listen with your ear against his chest. How when your body expelled the last of its shudders and gasps from your breakdown, you could feel his arms flexing, squeezing you a little tighter. How when you pulled back from his embrace, he traced the red indent on your cheek, left from one of the buttons on his sweater.

“When was the last time you slept, sweetheart?” Finnick asked in a tone so gentle it brought fresh tears to your eyes; perhaps it was the sleep deprivation this time.

“I— I can’t go to sleep,” you began to panic again, digging your fingernails into his clothed arms. “I just close my eyes and I keep reliving it over and over again, I can’t do it again, I can’t—”

“I get it,” he stopped your rambling with a simple sentence, and you finally felt like you didn’t have to explain, he just understood. “Just… come with me, okay? You can trust me.”

Wordlessly you nodded, allowing him to guide you gently through the long corridors of the various penthouses until you arrived to one that had been occupied by none other than yourself. No, I can’t sleep, you wanted to shout at him, but remained silent. Trust him.

You allowed him to go through the motions of a bedtime routine, paying no attention to the fact that it was probably breakfast time. Pulling back one side of the blanket, he patted the uncovered space, motioning you to come lay down beside where he sat. 

“Finnick, I can’t…” I can’t sleep.

He shook his head, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Just trust me, okay? Come and lay down, you don’t even have to sleep.”

Reluctantly, you threw the robe off of you and on to a chair, trying very hard to ignore the fact that the nightgown underneath did little to hide your body, reaching just past the tops of your thighs and exposing most of your legs. But Finnick didn’t even seem to notice, watching just your face as you settled into bed beside him, laying stiffly on your back until he motioned for you to roll over on your side, facing away from him.

“What are you—” you were shushed yet again and tried to comply, feeling a bit odd facing away from him when he was supposed to be distracting you.

You suppressed a shiver as his finger came into contact with your back, the thin silk of the nightgown doing little as a barrier and feeling more of a second skin. He began to trace a pattern— wait, were those letters?

“Finnick, what are you doing?” You forced back the beginnings of a smile, the first time you’d genuinely wanted to in what seemed like forever.

“Just relax, okay? Sometimes it’s okay to just… let yourself be distracted,” his voice trailed off, differing from the confidence you were used to, replaced by something much more vulnerable. “What am I drawing now?”

“I…” you frowned in concentration, trying to piece together the light strokes of his finger just barely gliding over you. “The sea, no! Waves?”

“Woah, that was fast. Didn’t know I was such an amazing artist, but it doesn’t surprise me—” The teasing tone had returned to his voice, no doubt an effort to continue to distract her

“Can you just continue drawing?” You rolled your eyes knowing he couldn’t see, but there was a slight humor to your voice that let him know it was working, that he was distracting you. His fingers continued their roaming, dancing so delicately and so dangerously close to your bare shoulder.

Finnick traced a moon, a star, and even a fish before he switched over to words, indenting each letter in your back with featherlight strokes of his fingers.

At first it was people, places. Your name. His name. District 4. District 1. Then it transitioned to phrases, which proved to be much more difficult. ‘You should sleep’—

“—Hey! I thought this was supposed to just be a distraction,” your words were finished with a heavy yawn that caused a chuckle to vibrate within his chest, and a feeling of warmth spread through you like wildfire. You couldn’t help it, in a moment you had flipped over onto your other side, wanting to see him. You could hear him, small chuckles passing from his lips and the slight rustle of the sheets beneath his body; you could smell him, a comforting, clean scent that instantly relaxed you, but nothing compared to actually being able to see him in all his glory.

You studied the high of his cheekbones, the straight edge of his nose, the golden glow of his skin that matched his bronzy hair dishevled from its place against your headboard. You studied the way his hair curled around his ears, the way you could faintly see the indents in his cheeks from where his dimples would appear if he were to smile, how the white of his two front teeth would poke out from his lips if he flashed you a smirk. They were full and pink, and, with a pang of jealousy that rocked your entire body, you wondered how many Capitol women had been blessed with feeling his lips on theirs — then swallowed that thought down with a shudder of disgust. He hadn’t wanted them, any of them, it was all a facade made up from by the Capitol, and you needed to realize that.

And while hearing him, and smelling him, and even seeing him was great, all you wanted to do was touch him. Not like that; no, you just wanted his arms around you again like they had been on the rooftop, shielding you from the cruelty of the world and finally allowing your body to feel safe enough to sleep. You wanted to reach out and trace the sharpness of his jawline, trail your fingers down to explore the planes of his chest, draw letters and shapes and meaningless patterns over his shirt like he’d just done to you. He watched you through sea green eyes that were glassy with sleep or emotion, which one you couldn’t say. His breaths came out short and shallow, hitting your face as you stared right back. You wondered if he could feel your breath fanning his face, or the warmth radiating from your body as you could from his.

He was close, so, so close, like that night you’d first seen him in the Captiol. You were wanting, just about begging for him to say something, something that would snap you out of whatever trance you were in.

It wasn’t fair that he could be so close, mere inches away on the bed, but be so unreachable.

But, as Snow had so graciously reminded you, fairness was a luxury you were not blessed with. So with great effort you tucked one arm under your pillow, using the other to pull the covers over you. Much to your relief, Finnick made no attempt to leave, saving you the embarassment of asking him to stay.

“Finnick?” You asked after several moments in a hushed whisper, not wanting to wake him. You felt guilty enough to have kept him up until mid morning.

“Mmmm?” Was the response, thick with sleep.

“Thanks for staying with me.” You fell asleep before you could hear his response.

Blood. Red and warm and sticky.

Heat. Blistering your skin and parching your throat.

A knife. Glinting in the sun, slicing straight through skin and muscle and bone.

A scream. Bloodcurdling and drawn out and all too familiar.

A scream escaped your lips, mimicking the one in your dream to an uncanny degree until you realized it was your scream. The sheets were tangled around your limbs, suffocating you and rendering you paralyzed as you fought with them, sweat drenching your forehead and leaving your hairline damp as you struggled for what felt like hours, though it was probably only a moment or two before your disorientation faded and you realized you weren’t back in the arena. Two hands were on your shoulders, strong and grounding, and you realized someone had been calling your name.

“You’re okay. You’re safe, it’s just— it’s just me,” Finnick’s voice was soothing to your ears, a calming melody against the screams and sounds of sliced flesh that were assaulting your mind.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, chest heaving as you sucked in as much air as possible, needing desperately to occupy your mind with something else, anything else. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up—”

“It’s okay,” he cut you off; his hands moved up from your shoulders to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks and you realized you’d been crying. “I get it, you don’t… you don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

His arms wrapped around your body until you had been tucked into his side, your head resting in the crook where his neck met his shoulder, and allowed steadying inhales and exhales to relax you as he resumed tracing patterns on your back. You cried, for everything you’d lost in those games, mourning the person you were before, and he just stayed there, cradling you against him, wanting nothing more than to take your pain on as his own.

“I— I— I just— I can’t—” you hiccuped, fresh tears spilling from your eyes as memories from your Games kept crashing down, how your District partner had protected you and you’d killed him—

“Please, what do you need?” Finnick squeezed his hands a bit tighter around you, trying desperately to bring you back to today. “Just tell me, and I can get it for you— liquor, morphling, anything, just—”

“Finnick,” you croaked out, hating how your voice sounded so weak, so broken. “Can you just…” your eyes flickered down to his lips, and despite every cell in your body screaming at you not to ask: “Kiss me.”

His eyes widened like it was the last thing he expected you to say, “I— okay— are you sure?”

You answered his question by surging forward and capturing his lips with your own, telling yourself it wasn’t his lips that you craved, but that you just needed something to get you through the night. He reciprocated immediately, matching your desperation with his own, like the two of you were trading blows as he pulled you fully under him, settling himself between your legs. You felt the hardness in his pants and couldn’t help but roll your hips up to meet it, pressing your own desire up against his. That — the feeling of his cock straining through the material of his sweatpants — made everything a little too real, and you suddenly found yourself needing to justify your actions. Why you felt this way was a mystery, perhaps you were protecting yourself, scared he wouldn’t feel the same if you were honest, but you truly had no idea, it just slipped out.

“I just… can’t think about it anymore,” you panted out. He didn’t have to know that you’d been pining after him since you were sixteen, didn’t need to know you hid your wanting behind sharp jabs and petty slights. “I don’t want you to think— this doesn’t have to mean anything, okay?”

Maybe you were imagining it, but Finnick’s eyes flickered with something you’d never seen before, clenching his jaw for a moment. “Okay.” He didn’t sound okay. “This means… whatever you want it to mean,” his voice was husky with a mix of something that sounded a little like… well you weren’t really sure, and you soon forgot to ask him as he stole your lips in another kiss.

You swore you would never get used to the feeling of Finnick’s lips on your own, even if you kissed him every day for a thousand lifetimes. Because each time his lips met yours, the world as you knew it was set ablaze with the same fuel that set your whole body on fire. You could never get enough of him, the way his lips were so soft and gentle, the way his breath mingled with and matched your own until it was like you were breathing as one. The way his tongue slid into your mouth but didn’t invade it while his hands roamed your body, squeezing the flesh around your hips, your sides, not being able to keep them contained to one place.

They finally settled on the sides of your thighs, squeezing around the area where your nightgown stopped, fading into a lacy trim and then disappearing completely. With tentative hands, he gripped the bottom of your nightgown and slowly began to hike it up your body. You helped him slide it up your legs, your stomach, your head, until it was completely discarded and you were left in nothing but underwear, having not worn a bra to sleep and leaving your chest completely exposed. Before you even had the chance to cover yourself, he was pressed up against you and his lips were on your neck, nipping at the sensitive spots under your ear and near the base of your throat, soothing the sting of his teeth with the swirl of his tongue.

This continued for a bit without any talking or shifting around, until you decided you weren’t content with being the only one practically naked, and reached for the hem of his shirt. He got the hint pretty quickly, leaning back and sitting on the backs of his thighs before tugging the shirt over his head. His biceps flexed in the process as he revealed a body sculpted and shaped into what you could only describe as perfect, not a single flaw to be seen.

 Sitting above you, your legs spread around him and almost completely bare before  him, this was the first time he was truly able to take in all of you, his green eyes nearly black with how wide his pupils had been blown out. His cheeks were so flushed they nearly matched the red of his lips, swollen from the constant attack of your own.

“You’re so beautiful,” Finnick whispered, so quietly you thought you imagined it. He didn’t leave much time for the compliment to settle in before he was back on you again.

His lips trailed down your neck, sucking and licking a path of hot, open mouthed kisses down past the valley of your breasts, down your stomach and not leaving an inch of skin untouched. You let out a little whine at the loss of contact when he suddenly pulled away, stopping his kisses just by your hip bone. You opened your eyes to see him searching them for any trace of unwillingness, finding none. 

You nodded, desperate to have his mouth on you, and involuntarily shivered as a finger hooked around your panties and rolled them down your legs. You couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed as he was met with how eager you were for him, evident by the growing wetness between your thighs, and instinctively pressed your legs together to shield yourself from his prying gaze, despite being completely bare before him.

“You don’t have to hide, it’s just me,” he said as gently as possible, gripping your thighs and slowly spreading them apart, “Are you really sure about all of this? I don’t want you to think that’s why I stayed.”

God he was so good, you realized with an ache that rocked your body, shooting straight to your heart as you stared at him, met with only sincerity that made you want to cry again, because you could never truly have all of him.

He was doing this as a favor, as a distraction, not because he had any real feelings. But you were so desperate for him you’d take what you could get, which was why you nodded fervently and said, “Please, Finnick, I’m sure, I need you, just… touch me.” And as soon as the last words slipped past your lips, his mouth was on you, and you knew in that moment you were utterly fucked.

Finnick, on the other hand, knew he there was no coming back the moment he came into contact with your clit and tasted you with his tongue. He wanted you, all of you, and chanelled that into the expert motions of his tongue as he dove it deeper in you, continuing at an agonizing pace until you were trembling, practically begging for release. Your fingers raked through his hair, tugging him closer to you, his groans vibrating against your folds whenever you pulled a little hard.

And then, he stopped altogether, and you let out a frustrated groan at the loss of contact, but he was quick to make his way up your body again, peppering kisses along the way before swallowing your whine with another kiss, your mouth opening to let his tongue inside and tasting yourself on him. He broke away for a moment, just in time for you to cry out his name.

“Finn—” you barely had time to whimper again before he suddenly sunk a finger in and kissed you at the same time. His mouth never left yours as he continued, his tongue sliding along the seam of your lips as you parted them with a gasp. And he swallowed that with the kiss, too, like he was hungry for every part of you that he could get. 

Desire ignited every part of his body, reflected in the way he began to pump his finger in and out before adding another, wanting you to be ready enough for his cock that he so desperately wanted to sink into you.

 But Finnick had waited so long for this moment, he didn’t want to ruin it by moving too fast. No, he needed to relish in every moan elicited from your lips, every clench of you around his fingers. He needed to memorize every dip and valley of your body, kiss every square inch, memorize the taste and feel of you, in case he never got the chance to again.

He broke away his lips from yours and reattached them to your neck as his thumb began to trace a pattern against your clit. His pace quickened as your moans grew louder and more frequent. Your walls squeezed his fingers tighter, until you were practically undone, as he reveled in the sting in his roots and on his back as as you pulled his hair even tighter and your fingernails dug little crescent moons into his otherwise perfect skin.

“I’m gonna—” You were cut off as he sent you over the edge with the slight curl of his finger, pure bliss blinding every other sense until all you could think of was Finnick. It took you a moment to come down from your high, realizing it did little to satiate you because you still wanted him, all of him.

You reached for his bare torso, feeling each of his abs flex individually as you trailed your hands down his stomach. You stopped just above the waistband of his pants, not only wanting to feel him, but wanting to hear him say he wanted it just as badly as you did; but it seemed he was thinking the same thing and beat you to it, shucking off his sweats and boxers until he was also bare before you.

“Tell me you want me,” his chest heaved with each word, demanding you say just what you wanted to hear from him, tearing your attention away from everything else. “Need to hear you say it.”

“Want you so bad,” your voice was barely above a whisper. “Please, I need you inside me. Right now, just… please.” If you could get drunk off of the word please leaving your mouth you’d be wasted by now, almost wanting to laugh with how often you’d said the word.

“Whatever you want,” the way he said that made your spine tingle, the purr in his voice causing you to border on ferality.

This caused you to laugh and hook your arms around his neck, pulling him closer with the intention of kissing the smirk right off his mouth until you felt the tip of his cock brush against your entrance, making this feel a little to real once again.

“You sure?” He halted your movements, both hands resting on either side of your head as he remained hovering above you, repeating his question from earlier.

The vigor in your nod caused him to throw his head back with laughter, though not before you asked for confirmation of his own.

Mimicking your move from earlier he answered with a kiss, this one so sweet and quick it was more of a peck. Before he had time to overthink, he was inside you in a swift motion, a moan tearing from your throat as he paused, waiting for you to adjust to the sheer size of him. Your fingernails dug into his arms as he held still, waiting for you to give him the go ahead before he started moving.

“Just— move, please—” that was all it took before his hips snapped against yours and he was inside you fully, biting back a groan to match yours as you clenched around him.

After a while of slow strokes, you were starting to grow inpatient with how gentle he was being. Not because you didn’t like it, but because then you had the chance to slow down and remember it was actually Finnick, and not some nameless man you wouldn’t remember in the morning. He seemed to pick up on your growing disinterest quickly enough, and began quickening his pace until you were crying out. His thrusts soon became wild and erratic, signaling he was just as close to finishing as you were.

“It’s okay,” he crooned, his lips brushing your ear as his hand reached down to circle your clit once again. “Come for me, sweetheart.” 

You weren’t sure whether it was his command, or the pet name, way his lips felt against your ear, or even his thumb pressing against your clit, but you came hard and fast, your body spasming and clenching around his cock until he followed soon after. He collapsed on top of you, his chest shining with sweat as he continued to press kisses on you shoulder, up your neck, behind your ear. The weight of Finnick pinning you to the mattress was oddly comforting, grounding you and effectively keeping you from wandering back to thoughts of your Games. The distraction had worked, you realized as he eventually rolled off of you and up into a sitting position.

You wondered tiredly where he was going, but he had left and returned before you could even ask where. A damp towel in one hand, he cleaned you up with gentle movements, slowing when you gasped from sensitivity and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead while whispering sweet words of encouragement in your ear. The whole interaction was so domestic you actually felt nauseous as you remembered this was just a one time thing, and you’d never experience any of this again. This was just a favor done by someone who wasn’t even really your friend — a familiar stranger who knew more about you than most.

Finnick oh so desperately wanted to know what you were thinking. He would ask, but the look in your eyes kept his mouth shut as he fell on the mattress beside you. He itched to pull you close to him, to be able to fall asleep with the security of you in his arms, but couldn’t bring himself to make any first moves. Had he not slept here before you two had just fucked, he’d be questioning whether or not he should remain or go back to his room.

If only he knew you were craving his touch just as much as he was craving yours. So the two of you fell asleep shoulder to shoulder, with so many words left unspoken.

And when you woke up the next morning, you tried not to let your heart sink completely into your chest as you reached over and felt nothing. He was gone.

[enamouredfae]

little astro observations i've made based on my little chart collection and experience 🎀

honestly i've observed this only in myself but you have a natural pull to people who's sun is the same sign as your 5th house, mine is in pisces and my bf, my best friend and my cat are all pisces, not to mention that 90% of my crushes have been pisces as well.

there is something about pisces and bunnies, they will either love bunnies (have tattoos of them, make art about them, be their favourite animal), own or have owned a bunny or they look like one, (my bf is all of the above).

in synastry a north node over a person's mars may indicate the north node person taking the mars person's virginity.

in synastry a person's moon in your 9th house may indicate they understand/feel/empathize with emotions in a different way from you due to where they come from and how they were culturally socialized, i have this with my bf and he comes from a north american individualist country where your emotions are your responsibility and other's are theirs and i come from a post communist country where you are responsible for everyone's emotions, and ppl live for other people.

in vedic astrology i am a hasta moon, claire nakti made a video on hasta nakshatra and describes hasta natives as "fairy pretty" and i have a pair of dragonfly fairy wings tattooed on my back, plus ive been told (before my tattoo) that i give off fairy vibes.

saturn ruled 3rd house makes you have to spend a lot of time in public transportation, for example you might live far from where you need to go, for me it used to take me 1 hour at least to get to some places, sometimes i'd have to wait an hour just to then spend on hour on the bus. just overall imposes patience for transportation

a lot of astro observation posts say that an aquarius 4th house makes you feel like u dont belong in your family or that you're the black sheep of the family, but i dont find that accurate at all, i feel like it makes the native the one to challenge family values, they may be the one to make their family change for humanitarian reasons

idk if this is a real technique already used by astrologers but i have a wholesign MC theory. in wholesign the midheaven can fall in the 9th/10th or 11th house. my theory is that wherever it falls is the way you get ahead in life, the way through which u become publicly known or get your career. If it falls in the 9th your career is owed to ur studies/travel, 10th your hard work/experience/reputation, 11th your connections/social media/friends.

i think i have the most literal astrological placements being passed down from your parents example. obviously placements dont always get passed down, my sister has none of their placements, but perhaps being the first child may have contributed to this since the first child is when parents still have their personality not yet influenced by parenthood. so my moon and my sun, which we know symbolize the parents amongst other things, are at the same degree and they sextile eachother exactly, which I think is an indicator that my parents are very harmonious together; they are still together and in love even now. furthermore, my moon and sun are the same signs of my parents' stelliums, i have a libra moon and my mom has a libra stellium, and my sun is in leo and my dad has a leo stellium.

sibling's ceres in your first is feeling like a parent to them, i constantly tell my sister she's my daughter, we even have an inside joke that i gave birth to her at 5, and my ceres is in her fourth, the house of motherhood so she definitely sees me as a parental figure.

me and my bf have eachother's jupiter in our 7th houses, besides being in a serious committed relationship, we want to start a business together. so i feel this is a great indicator for great partnership in both regards.

i feel like this is also a technique but i haven't really heard much about it, generational planets affect us through societal conditions/problems whereas personal planets affect us through personal problems. for example: let's go with two malefics, i have pluto in the first house which i feel would be very different from having let's say mars in the first house. the first house is amongst many things our appearance which i am insecure about. i have never in my life been told i am ugly, i am actually constantly told i am beautiful, and yet it does not click. it isn't through personal experiences that i have problems with my appearance but through consumption of society ideals. this is of course an oversimplification but you get what i mean.

chiron retrograde in natal changes our perception on trauma. me and my bf have the same chiron, his is retrograde while mine is not. he constantly says he is not traumatized, whereas i can tell i am. he 100% has traumas, the thing is that it's like he's left them behind? he just says it happened a long time ago so it's done. my observation is that retrogrades in your natal may make u leave things in the past or have a "it happened a long time ago it doesn't matter" attitude towards trauma. the thing is he acts like a non-traumatized person which is crazy to me.

i have a skin condition called dermatographia, also overall very dry itchy acne prone skin, i also have scars. here are a few placements that i have that i feel may be an indicator for skin conditions: mars ruled first house (traditional rulership) mars is inflamation and scarring, saturn in seventh saturn is dry and some people consider that libra(7th house) rules the skin, saturn opposite ascendant, saturn square venus i see venus as clear skin due to its aesthetical perfection.

saturn in 1st, especially conjunct ascendant indicates identity issues. borrowing elements of identity from people you admire, not feeling like you identify with the gender assigned at birth, not identifying with your birth name, etc.

having a libra 12th house can indicate traumatic female friendship. the 12th house is the house of hidden enemies, so you perceive these people as your friends, sometimes even best friends, so when they betray you it is very jarring and traumatic. having female friends that are jealous of you, female friends that pretend to like you, female friends that talk shit about you and even sometimes lie about u, friends that purposefully hide information from you, that want what you have, sometimes sabotaging what you have or trying to make u lose the thing they want, etc. this is a very difficult placement, because you love these people so much that you would've given up things, changed things or shared things with them if only they were honest with you. in the best of cases the friendship is real and full of love but you grow apart, and this is also painful because you can't control it.

venus square ascendant is people telling you they love you and you not believing them. just overall hardships around love and seeing yourself as loveable. double points when it also squares saturn making u think that if u are loved it's hard work or that people had to convince themselves to, that you're hard to love.

people with venus conjunct mars in first are stunning and have an androgynous vibe to them. sometimes this is visual, strong muscular body with graceful posture, but it can reflect in their personality, just strength imbued with vulnerability, people that surprise you, that are balanced.

taurus 6th house can indicate finding romantic partners in the workplace.

having a stellium in the 4th and no planets in the 10th, can indicate a strong connection to your mom and a disconnect from your dad, especially when the sun is in the opposite sign of your tenth house(in your 4th) feeling like your dad is not the way he should be.

🎀

please let me know what you think, im very curious how they hold up in other people's charts, critiques are welcome and invited.

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Unknown Ep 7 Brain Rot Moments

First of all, this show is incredible. 

Second of all, I haven’t stopped thinking about certain parts of this episode and that means I want to write about them. But I have absolutely no idea what there is to say besides “!!!!!!” 

So I guess here are the small movements of the episode I cannot get over:

The way Qian’s hand hits the couch and bounces on to his lap when San Pang asks him if he has feelings for Yuan. And I honestly can’t tell how much of what I love about it comes from the motion itself, this loss of strength that drops his arm limp beside him when faced with such a question, or if it is the sound of his hand hitting the couch that really sells it for me. The sound when Qian’s hand hits the couch is short and sharp and for some reason that noise feels like an answer to me. Especially because it is followed by silence from Qian. For me, Qian’s hand hitting the couch is his admission.

I don’t think this line was an intentional call back to last week’s episode and it certainly isn’t structured for peak emotional impact, but that does not mean that hearing San Pang tell Qian to stand straight didn’t immediately give me war flashbacks to Qian telling Yuan to stand straight in the midst of Yuan’s confession in Episode 6

Just so many parts of the phone call, probably like all of the phone call scene is just gonna be burnt in to my skull for a considerable time, but especially the way Chris is so legible in expressing Qian’s hesitation, and the way that Kurt is so legible in expressing Yuan’s desperation. I loved the initial panic of Qian feeling the weight of what he was about to do and trying to bail out, the way that Yuan immediately calls him back because he is not going to let this opportunity sneak past, the way that Qian is breathing, how tense he is, how much he has to breathe to steady himself, to mentally prepare to answer the phone and have this conversation.

gifs by @ueasking

How tiny Yuan’s voice is, contrasted with how big his eyes are when he says hello because he can’t believe that this is actually happening. 

How awkward Qian is here, this may perhaps be the most awkward I have seen Qian act. There is so much uncertainty in this conversation with him, the way he has to pull the “how have you been?” question out of his own head, the way he chews his lip as he listens to Yuan’s life updates.

The way Yuan’s lower jaw moves when he is desperately trying to find other topics of conversation, other questions he can ask Qian to keep this conversation going longer. The way that his silence goes on just long enough for Qian to get the “anything else?” question out. The way his jaw moves and his eyes widen and he leans forward when Qian says “bye bye.” It’s exactly the type of reaction I would see from someone trying to physically reach out to someone that is just beyond their grasp. He can’t yell wait to a dial tone.

gif by @ueasking

The way Qian starts to notice Yuan. He fully has not see his face at this point, he hasn’t heard his voice, or his name. But he is staring at Yuan’s shoes with his mouth slightly agape, because he recognizes them.

The way his eyes eventually work their way up in his disbelief, to look at Yuan’s head. The way that he immediately reaches out to Yuan, puts his hand on Yuan’s shoulder. It makes me think about how much Qian wants to, needs to be connected to Yuan. Because the time between when he figures out who is standing in front of him and placing a hand on his shoulder is near instantaneous.

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

Following that, the way Yuan slides Qian’s hand off of his shoulder when he is talking with the businessmen. I do not know what it is about that moment, but considering the preview for Episode 8, it feels very in keeping with a character that is playing hard to get. Even if that isn’t the case here, in front of all of these coworkers is definitely not the place for intimate touching between brothers.

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

I am also thinking about how that does not dissuade Qian, who then reaches straight for Yuan’s neck. Something tells me these side of the neck/side of the face touches are not platonic or brotherly… but I regardless I appreciate the way that Unknown affirms Qian’s reciprocated feelings for Yuan by having him be the one initiating a lot of physical contact after barely being around much less touching people. I think the only time we see Qian initiate physical contact before Yuan’s return is when he grabs San Pang’s arm to stop him from contacting Yuan.

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

The way that Yuan cares for Qian once they are in the taxi and heading home, the gentle removal of Qian’s glasses, tucking Qian’s tie in to his left pocket, right over his heart. The way that the tie sticks up just a bit so you can see a piece of Qian poking through

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

The way Qian does not resist at all when Yuan reaches over and slips his arm behind Qian’s neck. The way that Qian lets himself slide further and further until his head is resting against Yuan’s shoulder. Yuan did not pull Qian down, Yuan didn’t push, Qian fully moved THE WAY YUAN RUBS HIS THUMB AGAINST QIAN’S UPPER ARM.

gif by @aejeonghae

The way Yuan breathes in this scene to regulate himself because a lot has just happened, because Qian is Right There, because Qian reached out, because Qian is touching him, because he is back home after four years with a lot of uncertainty hanging in the air.

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

I don’t know about anyone else, but I will be thinking about Yuan putting his hand around Qian’s waist as Qian walks towards the bed. This is an entirely unnecessary action from a movement standpoint as in Qian is able to walk on his own, and Yuan slides this hand to settle at Qian’s waist as they walk, so he isn’t using it as a way to support or steer Qian. That feels like a stolen moment for Yuan, and opportunity for him to hold Qian in ways he has wanted to.

The massage Qian is getting from both Lili and Yuan, this is such an interesting moment for me because it places Yuan’s action here firmly in the familial, siblings category since he and Lili are performing the exact same action. And not only that but they are bickering like siblings do while they massage Qian’s shoulders. Unknown does not and will not stop reminding its audience what this story is about, who this romance is between. Yuan being adopted, Yuan being sent away for four years does not make Yuan any less of a brother to Qian or Lili. They did this earlier in the taxi too, Yuan tells the businessmen that Qian is his brother, Qian tells the businessmen Yuan is his little brother. The time and the distance has not changed how they view each other, they do not lie about the nature of their relationship to one another. There is no fresh start here.

THE EYEBROW QUIRK. GOD I THINK THIS IS MY FAVORITE MOMENT OF THE EPISODE. I literally cannot even explain why, I could not tell you what Qian is reacting to here. Personally I think it is an attraction to Yuan thing, that it’s as much of an admission of his feelings for Yuan as the sound of his hand hitting the couch was.

This tired, but genuinely happy smile, dimple and all, hearing Lili and Yuan bickering in the hallway. Yuan and Lili are here. Yuan and Lili are being ridiculous. Yuan and Lili have fallen right back in to their dynamic despite the time apart. Everything is as it should be. Yuan is here. Everything is going to change. Yuan is here. Yuan is here. Yuan is here.

gif by @ueasking

I have said it before and I will say it again that I am not a fan of incest plotlines, I especially have a lot of qualms around romantic and sexual relationships between adoptive siblings, partially because I think it undercuts the fact that they are family. It bothered me in The Fosters, it overwhelmingly bothers me in Umbrella Academy, it bothers me when “we may actually be related” plotlines are added to things (looking at you Shadowhunters series). I recognize a pattern with the ones that I hate being all heterosexual relationships, and I think some of that hatred stems from the fact that a lot of these plots exist because there aren’t enough women in those stories. 

I find it interesting that I had no problems with Ai Di and Chen Yi in Kiseki: Dear to Me because we never see them being raised together and thus there is a massive separation. And I currently don’t have any problems with Qian and Yuan inevitably getting together, for precisely the opposite reason. Unknown has really put the time and effort into showing the dynamics, into building the childhood, in to seeing where these characters came from, into turning these characters into siblings. Yuan understands from the beginning why he should not confess to Qian. Qian reacts to Yuan’s confession in a way I think is realistic. They have four years of no contact, they have four years to reflect on what happened that day, how they feel about each other. They have four years to see what life is like without the other person there, if they can survive it. And Qian cannot. 

But Unknown is not going to let us forget that these are brothers. San Pang knows it is wrong but doesn’t have the words to express it. His aparpent relationship to Lili will serve as an interesting parallel to Qian and Yuan’s relationship because San Pang considers them all family, considers Qian his brother, and yet here he is dating a member of that family. Idk I guess I just feel like they are handling the contents of this show very well, and I am going feral for the physicality of these actors. 

[astarionxhappiness]

This is my first piece of writing in about five or so years, so thank you Astarion for giving me that fire again.

I did my best to find all the typos, but this was written on my phone at about 1 AM while half asleep, and autocorrect is a bitch, so bear with me.

Prompt: you have a bad past of sexual abuse, but catch feelings for Astarion.

Word Count: A little over 4,000 words

Warnings: mentions of sexual abuse if you squint a bit. Fluff. Lots of fluff.

The two of you had been traveling together for some time now. And while you had gotten of to a rocky start, you felt that you had grown a rather strong bond over the past months.

Though you supposed that facing constant and never ending threats, as well as having a tadpole connecting your very minds could do that to anyone.

Having to constantly put your life into another's hands like that. . All of your trust. And in turn, they offered you the same.

It had been years since you had felt such trust for a person. Such faith and warmth. And to a vampire spawn no less.

The thought made you smile to yourself with great amusement, biting your bottom lip absently and tugging.

Perhaps it wasn't even putting your trust in a vampire spawn. . Perhaps it felt funny to find yourself putting your trust in him.

"What's so funny?"

The words knocked you from your daze, bringing your attention back to the world around you.

The sound of the crackling fire, the uncomfortable log making your ass sore the longer you remained seated on it. The night air chilling your skin through the thin fabric of your tunic.

"Tav?" Astarion's voice sounded again, ever demanding. His tone made you look over at him quickly.

"You keep doing that today. . Are you falling ill or something?" You did not offer a response to this rhetorical question, knowing it was asked out of fussiness from being ignored, rather than genuine concern.

"I'm just thinking," you replied, glancing over at him again. "Nothing is funny."

You had had a hard time looking at him all day. You knew it had to do with the dream you had had the night before, though you were still having trouble admitting it to yourself.

The very memories of it made you feel flush.

"Oh?" He quirked a brow as he gazed at you from the corner of his eye, his head tilted back in a manner that showed off his jaw nicely.

"And what is it you're thinking about so intently then, hm? It must be something quite interesting to have you so distracted." The suggestive smile and knowing glint in his eye made you flush, looking away bashfully.

"Whatever you think it is, I can assure you it isn't that," you replied with vehemence, listening to him burst into musical laughter.

"Oh, it truly is so much fun to tease you, darling" he replied, tilting his head to look at you, a smile dancing on his lips that showed off his fangs.

"So what was it, then? If not the idea of me ravishing your body?" He had been making such jokes more and more for weeks now, but the immersion did nothing to stop your face from going red once more, forcing you to look away from him so he wouldn't see.

Not that it truly mattered. You knew he could tell exactly what your reaction was. Hence the reason he loved to make comments.

"Astarion, could I ask you something?" You found the nervous words leaving your mouth before you could stop them, making your body tense.

Your head remained bowed, gazing intently at your lap.

The smile fell from his lips, a look of uncertain curiosity taking place in his features instead.

"What's on your mind, darling?" He asked, making you wring your hands together.

"Do you. . Do you actually like being with people?" The question made him pause for just a moment before a smile cracked the far more real expression that had come before it.

A breathless laugh left his lips.

"Of course," he replied, unwilling to admit to the possibility that that was in fact a lie.

He felt the question was building to something more, and he was unwilling to make himself unavailable should you want him.

His eyes squinted slightly in curiosity when you offered little more than a nod of your head, wringing your hands together.

"So. . So you enjoy. . Being touched?" You glanced over at him, tensing harder when you found his inquisitive gaze already looking back at you.

"Why are you asking me these things my sweet?" He asked. "Is it perhaps. . Because you really would like for me to touch you?" He brought his hand out to very lightly cover your wrist, making your breath catch.

Silence grew thickly between the two if you as your response to the question remained stuck firmly in your throat.

You startled violently when footsteps sounded from off to your left, followed by Wyll's voice.

"Are you two coming to eat? Gale's just finished cooking. " He hesitated as he spoke, watching Astarion's hand slide subtly off your wrist.

"I am actually not feeling particularly well," you replied, flustered as you got to your feet. "Excuse me." They both watched you go, having similar expressions if uncertainty as Astarion stood up next to Wyll.

You remained in your tent for the remainder of the evening, listening to the others talking and laughing over warm food.

You shivered absently as you laid on your bedroll, the thick furs feeling less warm than usual. You hoped that it was simply the nights getting colder, but you had a feeling it was rather your thoughts giving the impression of warmth leaving your body.

You shut your eyes, your fingers tracing the palm of your other hand tucked by your face as you heard Astarion reciting one of his favorite stories to the others, undoubtedly keeping the company of a nice glass of wine.

The tips of your fingers traced down to your wrist where his hand had covered just a few hours before, your mind wandering back to the dream that had corrupted your thinking all day.

You had sworn off touch long ago. Your experience with it being only violent and cruel.

You did not want it.

A simple brush of the shoulder led to temptation of touching one's arm. Then, perhaps the urge to move in closer. Feel their breath against your skin, inhale their scent. .

These were temptations that people seemed incapable to control.

No! You wouldn't risk it! Not again! Not ever again.

You would not be used for another's pleasure.

And yet. . Astarion had touched you, had he not? Not just tonight, but other times as well. Whether it was catching you mid trip, protecting you in a fight . . even waking you from a nightmare or two. .

You took in a deep breath as these memories crossed your mind. The feel of his hands clutching your shoulders, his soothing, concerned voice as he tried to calm you down.

You had felt faint that night, waking with the air out of your lungs.

You had fallen against him, your hands shaking, weakly grasping at his arms as you tried not to faint. You could still feel the sensation of your temple resting against his broad chest. The feeling of his cool hand coming to rest on the side if your head.

He had never stopped talking while you worked through your panic attack. Plenty of it was not actually comforting, but the simple sound of his voice grounded you. And his touch made you feel drunk.

You had pushed those feelings away after that night. but after your dream, after the vivid sensation of his touch against your skin, his soft voice easing your tension. . You knew the sensation. It was too vivid not to have been spawned from a memory.

That feeling of safety. . Never had you expected to ever feel it in your life. .

You bit your lip as you curled in on yourself, wrapping an arm around your torso.

If your fears were right, and all touching always led to pain and violence, then why had Astarion never tried anything?

Even tonight, the touch had been. . Gentle. Hesitant, almost. Offering the option for you to pull away if you so pleased.

But you didn't. Something about it felt right. Like having a taste of water when you didn't realize just how thirsty you were.

Perhaps. . Just maybe, it was possible to find safety with him.

You trusted him with your life, after all.

And from things he had told you in the past, you got the feeling he would understand the fear you had of being taken advantage of more than anyone.

Your attention was grabbed by the sounds of everyone getting ready to head to bed, most likely due to the rain that had begun falling, making it's presence known to you by tapping rhythmically against your tent.

You bit your lip, feeling your stomach twisting at the resolve you made.

You would just ask him. What was the worst that could happen?-

You had to stop your brain from answering this question.

It took you a little under ten minutes to harden your resolve.

You kicked off the thick fur blanket, stuffed your feet in your unlaced boots, and headed for the vampire's tent across the camp from yours.

Except, by the time your feet stopped in front of his tent, your resolve had weakened once more, leaving you standing in the dark with rain slowly absorbing into the thin layers of your clothes.

You were already shaking with nerves by the time that thunder boomed in the sky so loudly it had you yelping in surprise, your mind having been far more preoccupied with other things than the lightning overhead. flinging yourself through the flap of fabric that covered the entrance of his tent, you froze as you laid eyes on the man laying in the dim lamp light.

Your entrance made Astarion look up with a start from the spot on his bed, his finger marking the page of his book he had been reading.

He looked confused by your odd entrance, though your meek posture and flushed skin made him smile at you. It rather made your head dizzy and your feet want to run.

"Hello, beautiful," he greeted, his tone ever seductive. "I figured I would be seeing you again tonight." He shut his book in a way that had you wondering how many times he had practiced the motion in order to get just the right amount of seduction out of it.

He was. . Everything that you were not in such moments.

Confident, charismatic, smooth and seductive. Experienced, and more or less functioning.

You looked down, hands clasped before you.

"I-i didn't mean to bother you," you whispered, finding yourself far more nervous than you normally were.

"I just. . I wanted to ask you. ." You shut your eyes as your cheeks went bright red.

He couldn't help but notice the soft tremor rattling your body. Your meek position was not one he often saw you possessing. Only in moments when you were truly terrified or nervous about something.

It was, much to his horror, rather.. endearing.

He had only seen you in such a state a spare few times, but when he did, he had the odd urge to handle whatever it was causing it.

And in this case, he felt certain that the thing causing you trouble, he could definitely take care of.

He stood up, moving over to you, making your heart beat quicken with nerves.

He had a way of looming that made you want to flee.

When you flinched back from him, suddenly rethinking if your request was such a good idea, you watched to your great surprise as he took a step back, frowning.

"Are you scared of me?" He asked with sudden realization.

The action had not been made out of anticipation, or longing. No. . People did not flinch like that unless they expected something unpleasant to happen.

You looked up at him with round, horrified eyes.

"No!" You replied quickly, your body trembling a bit harder.

"I- no, of course not, I just-" he turned his head to the right slightly as he continued to look at you, frowning as he brows furrowed.

"I just get- nervous, with people. . Touching me," you finally managed to get out, sounding royally ashamed.

You had survived an illithid tadpole swimming around in your skull, the crashing of a ship you you were on only because of being abducted, countless perilous fights, and even knocked the head off of one or two goblins without ever skipping a beat.

But this. Proximity to someone that had never once tried to murder you, or handle you in a way you didn't want to be handled. . This terrified you?

It was only then that he realized you had always avoided being touched by others. You had never shown interest in any form of romance, or even friendly pats on the shoulder by the others in your little party.

You had always managed to casually and seamlessly avoid such interactions.

"Why do you get nervous being touched?" He asked, though he had his suspicions. "I assure you, love, there is absolutely nothing to be afraid of." He offered his hand out to you, but made no further attempt at contact. Remaining a respectful distance from you.

You looked away, a part of you desperately wanting to reach out and grasp his hand, feel the sensation that you had found yourself desperate to for.

You did not, however. You remained rigidly shaking in place as you looked away.

"You. . You said that Cazador, . . That he made you do things you didn't want to do? With him? And. . Others? " You whispered nervously.

It had been a conversation you had had with him some weeks ago, out on a ledge relaxing beneath the stars while the others slept.

He frowned at the mention, dropping his hand when the offer was not accepted.

"Yes," he replied, seeming slightly more guarded. "Why?"

You tensed as another roar of thunder raged in the sky, your eyes shutting.

"Well- someone. . Someone did things to me. To hurt me, and- and use me-" you looked up at him, eyes round and nervous, a part of you expecting to be met with disgust.

The expression you were met with however, was one of a silent understanding. The defense in his gaze softened.

Though the bitterness remained, you felt certainty that it was not directed towards you.

"I see," he replied, his suspicions finally being confirmed.

"So why are you here, then?" He tilted his head back slightly. "Trying to rewrite the pain in your past?" He guessed. "Well, I'm okay with that. Happy to be of service, darling." He offered you a charming smile as his weight shifted to one hip, his hand coming up to hang loosely at the wrist.

"No, actually," you replied, watching the false happiness slip off his features. "I-. . I wanted to ask if. . You would want. . " you scrunched your face, looking tortured.

"I can read your thoughts if you'd rather not say it aloud," he offered when you fell silent.

You looked only more pained by this offer, but nodded mutely, opening your mind to him as the request was caught in your throat.

He shut his eyes was he felt the connection take hold, swimming in your thoughts to latch on to the question stuck in your mind.

"Do I want to cuddle?" He demanded in confusion, taking an affronted step back, letting out a breathless laugh as he looked at you.

You tensed, shaking just a little harder at his reaction, your stomach twisting in a manner that made you glad you had not eaten that evening.

"I-. . No one's ever asked me that before," he went on, the vehemence in his voice dissipating as he looked at you, features taking on more trouble attributes.

He looked at you quietly, your small form shivering, your clothes clinging to your body wetly, making him wonder how long you had been outside his tent, too scared to come in and ask for such an odd. . Innocent, request.

The strange part was, it. . Sounded rather pleasant.

You had never asked anything of him before. You offered loyalty to him and never asked for anything in return. Not even his own loyalty to you.

You had fought for him. Saved him. Cared for his wounds, and been there for him in moments when he felt he could open up.

"I-" he hesitated as you stayed silently staring at him, waiting for something bad to happen.

He did not need an tadpole to read the nervousness and fear in your mind.

"-i think I would rather like tjat," he found himself genuinely admitting.

He offered his hand again to you, his demeanor soft and delicate. The same demeanor he had offered when he held you when you couldn't catch a healthy rhythm with your breathing.

You looked down at his hand, hesitantly stepping forward and putting your hand over his, feeling a rush if excitement and longing rush through you as you felt his fingers wrap gently around your hand.

You took another step closer to him, your mind almost blank as you shut your eyes, and wordless pressed your body against his in a gentle, soothing hug.

He hesitated as you did this, fairly certain no one had ever hugged him before this very moment.

It felt. . Warm. . Comforting, almost.

Safe.

He wrapped his arm around you after a moment of uncertainty, the hold tenuous and hesitant.

He kept your hand in his, pressed between your bodies up against your chests.

He shut his eyes, feeling himself melting into the embrace.

When you pulled away finally and looked up at him, he quietly used your hand still in his to tug you with him towards the bed on the ground. He sat down on top of the blanket, looking up at you wordlessly, his hand still tenderly grasping yours.

You took in a deep breath, looking down at him intently as you sat on the ground in front of him on folded legs, taking in another deep breath with nervous giddiness from the proximity.

It felt just as you had dreamed it. The warmth, the tenderness. .

You leaned forward for what Astarion instinctively expected to be a kiss, but found himself freezing when you pressed your forehead tenderly against his, your eyes shutting.

The soft little breaths you took in to try and calm yourself, soaking up the touch in a manner that clearly felt euphoric- it was not things that went unnoticed by the vampire spawn.

You were. . Positively adorable. The gentle way you hesitantly brought your hands up to let the very tips of your fingers touch either side of his face. The soft, earnest expression you wore as you soaked up the feeling of being touched . .

He shut his eyes, bringing his hands up to gently cover your hands, feeling your tadpole reaching out to his, should he want it.

Curious, he reached out, and felt himself tale an inhale as a feeling of warmth washed over him.

Feelings of care, and trust. understanding, and longing.

But not for the thing most people wanted from him. . It was a longing to be to see, as well as be seen. A longing for understanding.

He brought his hand to press against the mid of your back, gentle and coaxing, you slowly agreed to the request, and let him guide your body to press against his.

The touch felt so different than usual. Perhaps it was the connection of the tadpole, but it felt warm, and safe

You felt safe.

He had never felt such a sensation before in his life. To genuinely trust someone. To care for them.

There were small, subtle glimpse of pain in your thoughts. Ones that he found he wanted to prod at further, but resisted.

He brushed his nose against yours mindlessly, and you returned the action, feeling entranced as he opened his own mind mind you in return, letting you see how cared for you were with him.

You melted further into the touch, slipping your arms around his back, a hand coming up to the back of his hair mindlessly to play with the soft silver locks.

He brought his hands to your sides, keeping you pressed against him as he carefully headed backwards so you rested down on top of him, his fingers coming to run along the divot of your spine.

Wrapping your leg around him, you settled comfortably against him, the heaviness of your body on top of him feeling like a pleasant weighted blanket.

He let his hands roam along your wet clothes before making their way into your damp hair.

He wanted to ask how long exactly you had been out there to have gotten so wet, be he refrained, simply listening to the rain hit the tent as you both soaked up the comforting touch.

You folded the blanket up around the two of you after a time, and felt him roll you both a moment later.

You opened your eyes softly to look at him, gently resting your forehead against his once kore, though there was no tadpole connecting you this time.

"If you ever want someone," you whispered, bringing your fingers up to tenderly touch his cheek. "If you ever want to talk, or just. . Have someone to be with, I am here." You brushed your nose against his, watching his lids fall half closed.

He looked like he wanted to respond, but was perhaps, for the first time in his life, at a loss for words.

He felt an overwhelming sense for gratitude towards the offer. He had told you things before, but it had been in moments of weakness, or because it was necessary.

He had never shared just because.

"Well," he finally whispered, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "This. . Offer, goes for you as well." He looked down, clearly trying his best, but having a hard time with more vulnerability.

"Thank you," you murmured, inching a little closer. "I'm. . Astarion, I'm so sorry, for everything you had to go through." The words were spoken with great feeling, your heart aching thinking about of of the things be had admitted to happening.

"It's in the past now, well isn't it," he replied, stroking your cheek. "But. . Thank you, love," he added with a great deal more hesitancy.

You smiled slightly, which he found did odd things to his insides.

He sighed mentally to himself. He was not going to allow himself to feel things things for you- he couldn't.

You were just-

His breathing froze as you shifted up, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and head as you shifted him so his head rested against your chest, the position feeling incredibly shielding and warm.

He felt his stomach twist, his throat strangely tight.

He wrapped his arm around your torso hesitantly after a moment, apprehensive.

No one had ever- held him before. It was not how this worked-

And yet. . He found his eyes falling shut with sudden exhaustion.

He cursed you, unsure what exactly it was about your touch that had him feeling so. . Melty. But it was unaccept-

Singing?

His ears perked up slightly, distracted from his thoughts as a sweet, soft melody gripped his attention instead.

His body eased to rest more heavily against you as his muscles relaxed.

Perhaps. . It would be okay just to relax and enjoy for a little while? And then he could get back to his plotting and manipulations later. .

He took in a deep breath, feeling your fingers touching his hair tentatively, running the tips of them through the outer layers of the silvery strands.

The soft vibration of your chest as you switched between signing and humming different parts of the song had him entranced.

You kept your gaze on him as you did so, feeling your stomach twisting with giddiness.

This had been it. It was just like you had dreamed. . The feeling of his arms around you, the dim light of the lantern casting calming shadows.

The tender, warm touch with none of the unpleasantness.

It was everything you had been craving and more.

You shut your eyes after a time, feeling him slowly heating against you as he slipped off into peaceful slumber.

You slipped down sleepily after nearly an hour of just enjoying the position of holding him safely in your arms.

You felt him shift in his sleep as you settled down against him, his arm wrapping around you, pulling you close.

You pressed your forehead against his softly, eyes shutting, feeling his breath tickle your face with every slow exhale.

You let your leg rest loosely in-between his, wrapping your arm around his waist before settling.

You slipped off a little while later to join him in slumber, the soft drumming of the rain and rumbling thunder in the distance lulling you to sleep.

[orikiys]

✿ ✿ 〞voicemails as he tries to erase you

✰ pairings: ex bf!hyunjin x gn!reader

✰ genre: angst, romance, nostalgia (?), some humor as well

✰ warnings: cursing, heavy angst, low-key toxic ex hyunjin who wants you back and can’t move on

✰ word count: 1.3k + words

HYUNJIN | chan | minho | changbin | han | felix | seungmin | jeongin

one 𖨂

hey. . . it’s been a really long time. how have you been? if you asked me that, i’d reply with a ‘fine’ , but the truth is i’m not fine, love. ever since– ever since you walked out of our shared apartment, which is no longer ours, i felt my chest ache. at that time i didn’t know why. i had no fucking clue. and god, i was so clueless that i almost lost myself in the process too. there were times when i felt like making up excuses just to get to see you or visiting your favourite cafes in hopes you would be there too. . . but you weren’t. it’s almost as if you stopped doing everything that was connected to me. stopped hanging out at our usual beach, stopped buying boba teas, started hating red velvet pastries and you even tore our couple shirt babe. i know i shouldn’t be calling you that, but i can’t help it. what hurts the most is that you’re trying to erase me, erase our memories and attempting to move on. while i, like the loser i am, is still stuck in the past. and i hate it so damn much.

two 𖨂

i see you in the sea everytime i’m at the beach. but it’s not us, instead now it’s ‘you’ and ‘me’. and at times, i really do wonder if you think of it too. think of the little beats of the heart that skipped just because of a single touch, or maybe the eye contacts that lingered a little too long. or perhaps the hugs and kisses, all too warm and making my brains go dizzy. do you think of it too? do you? and perhaps, it shouldn’t have ended this way. when i was the one who told you to leave, but here i am, begging you to come back. i was the one who left you but i still can’t move on, yet you look so happy, basking and glowing under the sun. tell me love, do you not remember it? remember us? our love is so saint-like and pure– that it hurts me to think how far we’ve come. but here you are, knitted into my soul like we are one thread. a thread that is now dangling off, and the harder i try to put it back, the farther it gets. is this how you want us to be now? so fragile? and just so desperate?

three 𖨂

i know you listen to these. i know you do. yet i can’t seem to figure out what’s holding you back. is it the guy from literature? or is your friends warning you to stay away from me? or perhaps the reason of our breakup? i can’t tell anymore. i really can’t. you mask yourself way too well, darling. but stop pretending. stop pretending that whenever i pass by, i can feel your hands tremble, i can feel your face go pale and i can see it in your eyes, how you hold yourself back from running to me. and i’m not saying it that you’re desperate, but it’s me who is the desperate one. i have studied the moles on the back of your neck, the blisters on your feet from practising way too much and even your lips– that now only say ‘goodbye’. why?

four 𖨂

i tried to stop loving you, so i built walls around my heart. and found other smiles to stare at– but the way you caved yourself in my veins makes it hard. we were so happy together. and i wish i could turn back time just so it could take us back to the past where it all ended. and as quickly as a flower withers, you did too, away from me. you told me how there’s no place for someone like me in your heart. how i irritate you the moment you see my face. and mostly, how much you hated my guts. how much you hated me. it hurts love. why do this to me? why must i be treated this way for what i did? though it was knowingly, i regret it. and i said sorry, a million times. with sincerity and love. just how many months should i knock at your door for that one day when you finally open it? how many sleepless nights do i have to spend, hugging your plushie thinking it was you? just how many more months do i have to wait till you come to tie my hair? answer me, darling. just once.

five 𖨂

must you do this on my birthday? humiliating me in front of my friends when i tried to invite you to my party? must you always have that expression of disgust whenever you see me? why can’t you let it go? if not, come back and erase my memories. erase yourself. erase the times we spent together, talking about our futures and what not. i’ll leave you, if you can do that. i thought my birthday would be a 360 for you. that you’d wish me just once and though as strangers i hoped you really did. was it really that hard to say those two words? that hard to make me happy again? i can’t believe you. i can’t believe how much different you’ve become. you’ve. . . changed. and i tried too as well. but it was hard when your smiling face kept popping everywhere i went. it’s embedded in my heart. and i can’t seem to get it out no matter how hard i try. and it hurts a lot. why can’t you give me one last chance? i promise i won’t fuck it up. one last chance, just think of it, please?

six 𖨂

you refuse to answer me. you refuse to see me. you refuse to love me back again. and now i’m starting to question whether i’m unlovable or not. i see it though. the pity looks thrown towards me as i walk towards you. or the weird stares when i try to touch you. they don’t know me as you know me, darling. they don’t know just how deeply i love you. they don’t know any of that. but you know. you always talked to me for hours when i felt low. you hugged me when the world kept spinning me around. you wrote poetries for me! now look at the irony. my collection of your paintings just keeps increasing, and now i sound like a poet as well. what else am i going to unveil because of you?

seven 𖨂

i’m staying at jisung’s tonight. i know how inconvenient that must be for him, yet he welcomes me with open arms. he treats me carefully, afraid to crack the wrong jokes or switch on the drama because he knows i’ll lose it the second i see any similarity. is this what a heartbreak feels like? if yes, i hope i never fall in love again. i hate it. love is a drug. it’s a drug once consumed you can never stop. the need keeps increasing till you lose your mind. and it’s you that i need. come back to me before i lose myself again. come, heal me, just like you always wanted to. except it’s my heart this time. can you do it, my doctor? can you? they say if you kiss a wound it will heal. but i don’t think you can kiss my heart. not anymore.

taglist: @taeriffic 🫧 @hello-2-u-from-me 🫧@theblackrose247

[unseemingowl]

Saga Anderson, and Nordic rep in Alan Wake 2

Early on in Saga Anderson’s exploration in Alan Wake 2, she runs into Ilmo Koskela. Fiercely proud of his Finnish heritage, Ilmo gregariously makes note of Saga’s Nordic sounding name and the familiar design of her knitted sweater. Perhaps a fellow Finn?

Alas no, Saga’s mom is Swedish she informs him. Immediately Ilmo’s face falls. I’m not sure if it’s actually just the animated character defaulting to his resting face, but either way the timing is too perfect. Cue uproarious laughter from me. People in the Nordics are on friendly terms of course, but we gotta have the tiniest bit of… scornfor each other. All in good fun of course. It’s traditional.

Now, I’m Danish, not Finnish, but still, I feel right at home in the towns of Bright Falls and Watery in Alan Wake 2. All of the little nods to Nordic culture and mindset feel so wonderfully familiar to me. The melancholia, the irreverent sense of humor, the affection for the Finnish and Swedish quirks of the characters. The game feels all the stronger in tone and narrative for Remedy embracing the Finnish roots of the studio.

Which is exactly why it sucks that I almost immediately saw the charm of those narrative decisions weaponised against Saga.

I first watched the scene between Ilmo and Saga on a lets play when I was trying to figure out if I should finally dip my toes into survival horror and buy the game. Delighted by the writing I took a look into the comments to see if people were vibing as hard with it as I was. They were. But I also saw a comment that made me frown.

Paraphrasing, it basically went, come on, like hell a guy like Ilmo would make the assumption that a black woman is Finnish. There are a multitude of reasons why I think that person was wrong, mainly that Nordic people love it when we run into each other in other countries, but it also just made me sad.

Saga being black does not negate her Swedish heritage. Formally, she is American, sure (I assume, not sure how that works in the US), but she’s raised by her single Swedish mom, of course she’s going to identify heavily with that part of her herself. It’s a profound and essential part of who she is.

But hey, I’m a white potato Dane, so I’m not gonna argue that I know much about the experience of being biracial. I’m gonna stick to what I know, which is that Saga is a very moving and beautiful example of something that I’m actually not used to seeing much of - a story about connecting with your Nordic heritage and roots. And it’s part of why I love her so much.

When Nordic people show up in big, international productions, it’s usually as Vikings, and sure, it’s fun to see our wild ancestors, but contemporary questions of Nordic identity and heritage is not something I often see explored. Not even in our own productions.

So much of Saga’s story is about family. Fighting for her current one, Logan and Casey (and sure, David too, lol), and rediscovering her first one. Tor and Odin.

Her discovering her ties to Tor and Odin is profoundly moving and made me teary-eyed several times over. And sure, a lot of those ties are fantastical in nature, but they still feel very much grounded - and what makes us Nordic if not the ties to our myths and legends that Tor and Odin have made themselves the living avatars of.

While Saga’s mom, Freya, had good reasons for leaving the Anderson seer magics behind, seeing them as part of what made her family fucked up, she also cut Saga off from the fullness of her capabilities. It is only through Saga reforming her family, healing its scars and fully embracing the Anderson heritage that she becomes as powerful a parautilitarian as she is at the end of the game. That’s beautiful.

And in fact I think Saga being black only deepens the richness of those themes rather than negate them or make them irrelevant. Because yes, Saga’s story would have been moving if she was a white character too, but I am very well aware that a lot of biracial people of Nordic ancestry can feel alienated from that part of themselves. Not least because questions of who gets to claim a Nordic heritage can get pretty ugly around here. There are most definitely people who share the racist mindset of that commentator. It adds an extra dimension. Which is why seeing Tor and Odin’s eagerness to claim Saga as part of the Anderson heritage is all the more moving. Through her magics, she’s just so obviously an Anderson, and they’re so damn proud to call her theirs and fight alongside her. Because they all got that wild Viking blood in them. They’re part of her and she’s part of them.

Roger Ebert, the film critic once called movies empathy machines. I think games, when they’re at their best, can be an even more intense variation of that. Which is exactly why it baffles me that some people can play through Alan Wake 2 and still think Saga is a stunt-woke character rather than someone fully and beautifully integrated in the narrative. A narrative which, at its most basic level – in my opinion – is about the mystical bonds we form with each other and the rest of the world through art and love and blood and family and heritage. All the great horror doesn’t negate that either, it amplifies it. Kind of like that clicker.

[se-agapo-skywalker]

The Old Man and the Sea

Flashbacks are italicized

CW: age gap (dilf!Luke Skywalker), oral sex (f!receiving), penetrative sex (p in v), unprotected sex, usage of petname "master," mild degradation

WC: 4.4k

"You are no Jedi... nor am I." Luke's back faces you, his solemn eyes cast upon the sea. "I cannot train you."

You reach out to touch his shoulder. "Master, please-"

He flinches away from you, almost recoiling in disgust and shock, all the while keeping his face away from yours. "I already told you. That title no longer means anything to me."

"Then what should I call you? Sir?"

He sighs and shakes his head. "No, I'm not that old..."

"Mr. Skywalker?"

"Too formal."

You pause to think, considering your words carefully. "...How about just Luke?"

Finally, he turns his head to look at you. His eyes reflect a strange vulnerability, sadness and fondness all mixed into one, emotions he tries to keep as hidden as possible. He isn't doing a very good job.

Luke nods, silently, once again casting his eyes down to avoid your gaze. "Just Luke."

Snuggled up into Luke's side, you twirl a lock of his hair around your finger and sigh. His head is leaned back against the pillow, eyes closed, breathing slowly and quietly. You smirk to yourself at the sight of him laying there so peacefully--he's spent to the point of appearing fast asleep.

For a man of his age, his stamina is quite impressive--pinning you beneath him, driving into you at a pace that has you moaning his name over and over--but once he's out, he's out. It's rather cute, to be honest... yet you can't help but wonder if he drifts into sleep so easily because he can't stand to be awake.

You've found that when he isn't doing menial chores, Luke spends most of the day either staring at the sea, walking along the cliffs, or doing who knows what inside of his hut. Perhaps he's meditating, or sleeping, whatever an old Jedi does to pass the time when he so clearly hates his life--you almost feel sorry for him. Almost, as every attempt you make to connect with him is met with disdain or rejection. Usually both.

Still, the Temple Island isn't big enough for you two to ignore each other entirely, no matter how hard he might try. Your paths intercept too frequently, much to his chagrin and your delight. There's something strangely magnetic about him--beneath his gloomy exterior lies the remnants of his grace and discipline, the dignified power of the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order.

It's something you're determined to bring out again.

Luke stirs a bit, shifting in the bed slightly. With confirmation that he's indeed still awake, your hand wanders to his face, delicately stroking his beard.

"One more round?" you ask, voice sweeter than honey. You already know the answer--most likely a no--but it doesn't hurt to try.

He groans softly. "I don't know if I have it in me, starlight." Blue eyes squint open to meet yours, a smile growing on your lips, and he scowls. "What are you smiling about?"

"Nothing, I just think you're cute," you laugh, and he furrows his brow.

"Sweetheart, calling me cute is like calling the sky red."

"But it is red, during the sunset!"

"You know what I mean."

Knowing there's no reasoning with you, Luke relents to your will as you lean over to kiss him. He must think you're impossible--you're certain he does--but that's what keeps on drawing him back to you. At least, that's what stops him from turning you away.

Knocking on the door of Luke's hut, you wince. What were you thinking, coming to him like this, drenched in rain during the middle of the night? He's sure to think you're crazy, if he doesn't already. You shiver as the water continues to pour down, making your hair and clothes stick to your body like a wet tooka as it positively soaks you to the bone--you don't even know why you're here, if you're being honest with yourself.

Finally, the door opens. There stands Luke, your reluctant teacher, the man who's been avoiding your friendship for all this time, looking upon you with annoyance and confusion.

"Why are you here?" is all he says, eyes flicking across your wet form. You scratch the back of your neck self-consciously.

"I... I needed you," is all you manage to say in response.

"For what reason?"

"I don't know." You look down at your feet guiltily. "Something in the Force is telling me to be here."

He scoffs, clearly not believing you, but shakes his head and beckons you over. "Well, come in before you get sick," he grumbles, and you follow him inside as the door shuts behind you.

His hut is simple, not far from what you'd expect the living space of an old Jedi hermit to look like. Old sacred texts are scattered about, and so are his robes; he's currently dressed in simple nightclothes, ones that you briefly find yourself staring at.

No, no, you shouldn't look at him like that--especially not when he's standing right in front of you. But you could've sworn earlier that he looked at you the same way when you stood outside his door, wet clothes clinging to your body... You didn't mean to, well, approach him like that. But here you are, standing in his room and shivering before him as water dripped from you onto the floor.

Seemingly reading your mind, Luke finally breaks the silence--"You know, you should probably change out of those clothes and warm up."

"And change into what?" you ask, cheeks starting to burn.

A quick flash of embarrassment crosses his face, but he quickly conceals it. "I, um... something. This," he says, tossing his cloak to you. "I'll turn around."

You keep your eyes on him as he turns around and awkwardly goes to sit on his bed... and you swear you see him take a pillow into his lap. Slowly, you start peeling off your wet clothes; it's quite the thrill, being this exposed near him, something you'd never anticipate you'd do. If you were in your right mind, you wouldn't--but you aren't, and here you are.

After stripping out of the last of your clothes, you wring your hair out a bit and drape Luke's cloak around your shivering, nude form. It's quite warm, made of thick bantha wool, and it smells like him, although you manage to fight the temptation to bury your face in it. He's right in front of you, anyway.

"I-I'm done," you manage to say.

"Please, tell me... why are you really here?" Luke responds, not even turning around to look at you. "You're welcome to stay until the storm dies down, but if you're here to torment me, don't."

You grab onto the ends of the cloak, keeping them secure to preserve your modesty as you move to sit next to him. Startled a bit by your boldness, he finally looks over at you, and there's something in his eyes you can't quite recognize.

You take a deep breath and exhale. "Look, I don't know why I'm here. I don't know why it's storming, and frankly, I don't know why I'm naked, but here we are. But I think we've both noticed how we can't exactly stay away from each other, no matter how hard we try--how hard you try. I'm not here to hurt you, Luke, I only came to Ahch-To to find you, to see that you're still alive. And now that I know you, I..."

In a move that nearly knocks you off his bed, Luke slowly reaches out with his flesh hand to brush a wet strand of hair out of your face. "I know."

By some strange string of fate, or perhaps by the will of the Force itself, you find your lips meeting his. His beard is rough, scratchy. You wouldn't have it any other way. His lips, apprehensive at first, move against yours rather sloppily, either out of desperation or out of inexperience--although you wouldn't fault him for either. It's not like you're particularly experienced, you never quite had the time, and you aren't opposed to the two of you learning together. The student becomes the master, the master becomes the student...

"Master," you breathe out, "please."

Luke's lips trail from your lips to your jaw, and then to your neck, pressing plenty of ticklish kisses in his wake. His hands move to gently grip the side of your face and back of your neck, careful not to mess with the cloak. Part of you wonders if he ever will, if he's willing to go that far, perhaps even in this sitting. A Jedi would show restraint; yet he is one no longer.

In what can only be interpreted as him sensing your thoughts, Luke stops his advances to look at you, lustful eyes now showing with worry. "Are... are you sure you want this?"

You grab his mechanical hand--you quite like the feeling of the flesh hand on your neck--and bring it to the fastener of the cloak, not undoing it, but letting him know it's an option. "More than anything."

Luke's change in demeanor from grumpy to surprisingly gentle is intoxicating, shocking you in the best way possible--you knew this side of him was still there, you just knew it, and you're so glad you finally have confirmation of it. Peering over, however, you try to get a glimpse of the other confirmation of his affection that you seek...

Just as Luke begins to fiddle with unfastening the cloak concealing your body from him, you slip your hand between the two of you, first to carefully grip his thigh as you lean in to kiss him again, moving your hand further and further until-

"Stop," he interjects, grabbing your hand.

"I-I'm sorry, Master, I-"

His gaze softens, guiltily. "No, it's not you. I'm not ready for that--not yet." Flesh hand reaches up to cradle your face. "I want this to be about you. I want to make up for how cruel I was."

You bring the hand to your lips, kissing the palm, silently accepting his proposal to apologize. The Luke you first met on that cliff all those months ago is near unrecognizable--never before would you have expected him to ever apologize to you, let alone be this communicative with you. Well, communicative by Luke standards. From what you’ve heard of his past reputation as a Jedi, all those stories and legends about his vast accomplishments, he had always been quiet, guarded, only now amplified by his guilt in exile. But he’s trying, that much is clear to you.

“Do you want me to continue?” Luke finally says, breaking the silence with a rare show of humor. Smiling and nodding into his palm, you give it one last kiss, relinquishing your control over it.

Hands return to the fastener, and you feel your heartbeat increase as you're finally hit with the realization that this is going to happen. You have no reservations about it, you've fantasized about sleeping with him for quite some time now, but you must admit the actuality is a bit frightening--and absolutely thrilling.

You want this. Luke does, too, if the totally unsubtle tent in his pants has anything to say about it. But something tells you he's just as nervous as you are--perhaps he's worried about being out of practice, or, if he had previously pursued the path of celibacy, he's worried about having no practice at all. Either way, you don't mind, truly. All you want is him.

Finally, in one swift motion, the fastener is undone. Letting out a shaky breath, Luke begins to pull the fabric of the cloak from your shoulders, ever so slowly, exposing inch by inch of your bare skin to him. As the fabric pools at your waist, you shiver at the feeling of the cool air hitting your slightly damp skin. He notices, instinctively reaching out his hand to touch you--the sudden contact and warmth makes you jump.

"Sorry," Luke whispers, unable to look anywhere besides your face.

"Don't be... please."

Now is his chance to ravish you with his eyes, finally gazing upon--and practically devouring--the beauty that has been hidden from him for far too long.

"Stars, you're... you're incredible."

You blush, both out of pride and bashfulness, as Luke's eyes continue to trace your figure. He stares at you for quite some time, not daring to touch you aside from the hand he has gently caressing the flesh of your waist. It isn't until you grab said hand and move it to the swell of your breast that he finally gets the nerve to actually feel you.

Fingers trace around the soft skin of your nipple, coaxing the little bud into a hardened peak as Luke pinches it ever so slightly. He squeezes your breast, firmly but not painfully, and before you can even register what is happening, his mouth is on you. Beard hair tickles your skin as he plants an open-mouthed kiss at the center of your chest. Kissing, licking, and sucking, he marks his journey through the valley of your breasts by leaving your skin raw and marked--claiming you as his own.

You let out a high-pitched gasp as Luke's lips attach to your nipple, alternating between sucking and flicking with his tongue before switching to do the same to the other. He does this multiple times, only stopping when he leaves them visibly puffy and swollen, with you shuddering and moaning softly at the loss of his touch. As he had worked on you, your hands had found their way into his hair, carding your fingers through and tugging at it softly--he nearly bit you in response, and given the effect on him, you swore he almost liked what you were doing more than you liked what he was doing. Almost.

Your hands move from Luke's hair to cradle his face. He looks up at you nervously, waiting for your reassurance or your approval, hoping he hasn't done anything to upset you.

In a moment of boldness, you say, "Oh, I like that... there's just another place I think I'd like it even more."

Icy blue eyes widening, he nods slowly, taking in a deep breath as he prepares to obey your command. Gently pushing you back, he lowers you onto his bed, laying your head on his pillow--and he pauses.

"Are you sure you want this?"

Your first instinct is to pout, but you don't. He's very likely entirely new to this, and nervous about the fact, so the least you can do is have some grace. Reaching out for his hand, gently ghosting your fingertips over his, you tell him, "I want this. I want you."

With nothing more than a silent nod, Luke finally lifts the remainder of the cloak off you and pulls your thighs apart. His breath hitches at the sight of you--so tight, so wet, glistening in anticipation for him. Him.

Reading his emotions--you're becoming a lot better at that under his tutelage--you smile at him coyly through your eyelashes. "It's for you, Master. All for you."

You flutter and clench at the way Luke breathes out, groaning slightly. After a moment of just staring at you, piercing blue eyes locked onto your beautiful, beautiful core, he ducks his head to get closer. Whatever nervousness he had before has almost completely melted away, starting with light kisses to the inside of your thighs as he pries you open even more. You squirm ever so slightly beneath his touch, one that starts out hesitant but grows more and more eager, the rough hair of his beard nearly rubbing the skin of your thighs raw.

Luke pulls away, just for a moment, his voice deep and gravely. "Let me take care of you."

You shudder at the feeling of his breath on you. But you aren't prepared for what follows--the feather-light poke of his wet tongue, slowly licking a preliminary stripe from hole to clit as he slicks you with a combination of your own wetness and his spit. You had wondered, dreamed when this day would come, and now that it's here, you find yourself melting so readily at his every move.

Noticing the effect he has on you, Luke tentatively wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling you closer to his face so he can taste you more deeply. The new angle has you situated to where you could very well begin grinding on his face, and you have no doubts that he'd let you. This is what he wants--to be needed, to please, to do something, anything right. To have you spread out so beautifully before him is a miracle of the Force itself. He'll do his best to prove he deserves it, as much as he thinks he doesn't.

Alternating between gently probing you with his tongue and languidly exploring the contours of your folds, Luke's lips finally make their way to your clit, where he gently begins sucking. For a man who most likely has no idea what he's doing--although he would never admit it--he sure seems like he does.

Your hand instinctively makes its way to his hair again, albeit this time with far more urgency. Arching your back into him, you pull unapologetically on his greying locks, eliciting a deep groan from him.

An idea enters your mind.

"You like this, Master?" you moan, maneuvering to look at him working between your legs. His eyes flick up to meet yours. "You like finally being useful to someone?"

Your words seem to ignite a fire within him. Without even giving you a moment to process what's happening, Luke's mouth leaves your clit--drawing out an absolutely pathetic mewl from you--and he pulls your legs around his waist, lifting your hips off the bed. Using the Force, he swiftly pins your hands above your head, leaving you fully exposed and at his mercy.

"You think I'm finally useful, huh?" Luke practically growls, "Who are you to judge?"

You can feel his hardened cock brush against your sensitive core from beneath his nightclothes, and, desperate for friction to satiate your hunger, you try to rock your hips against his. But he won't have it--holding your legs still, he keeps you in place with an iron grip.

"Before I show you how useful I can be, you must learn patience. Now be still."

Luke's stronger mechanical hand--still gloved, which only adds to the allure--keeps a hold on you as his flesh hand moves to free himself from the confines of his pants. After a brief moment of fumbling where you pretend not to notice, he manages to pull down his waistband, and out it springs.

And it's... a lot. A lot more than you expected. Where you were eager to take him before, desperately aching for him to be inside you, you can't help but feel a bit nervous. Still, you can't take your eyes off him--large, thick, nice and veiny with a pink tip...

"Is this alright?" Luke asks, his voice low and husky, already starting to slowly drag it across your folds. Your body jerks slightly when the tip bumps into your still-swollen clit, but he's too busy lubricating himself with your wetness to notice. "Well?"

"Y-yes... I need you, Master, please," you practically beg.

Smirking to himself, he finally grants your request. Aligning himself with your entrance, he ever so slowly presses in, eyes screwing shut in the process as a low grunt escapes his throat.

"Maker, you're tight..."

You throw your head back and whine at the stretch. Luke is so much--almost too much--filling you in a way you never thought was possible. It stings slightly at first, but it's such a delicious feeling, one you never want to go another day without.

After giving you a moment to adjust, Luke's eyes meet yours--gently questioning, but still clouded by his need for you--and you signal for him to start moving. Slowly drawing himself back out, he starts a steady pace of deep thrusts, although they're a bit shaky at first. Amidst your ecstasy, you forgot that this may very well be his first sexual encounter--something he's doing a very good job of hiding.

In truth, it doesn't bother you at all. Luke sure keeps you on your toes--the more the night progresses, the more you learn so many seemingly conflicting things about him... and the more you realize you never really knew him at all. Perhaps no one did. He can be stubborn, and gentle, and firm, and vulnerable, a million different things all wrapped into one. And, slowly and surely, you'll peel back those layers to reveal who he truly is.

In the meantime, what Luke does show you is just how pent up he is--he isn't even fully out of his clothes, and he's already fully erect and fucking you into his mattress. The noises are borderline obscene, both the creaking of his bed and the squelching of where your bodies meet, with him loudly sliding in and out of you. While he was rather slow at first, he's since picked up the pace, snapping his hips against yours with a bit more fervor. If you hadn't known any better, you'd say he's just about as virile and libidinous as a juvenile fathier.

You moan and write beneath Luke, your hands still pinned above your head by the Force. After all his talk about its sacred rules and how one must respect and fear it, you truly never expected him to utilize it in such a way--but, knowing your Master, you doubt he cares. He looks down at you with those heavy eyes, his gaze filled with emotions you can't quite describe or even begin to understand. He's quiet, oh so quiet--you can't exactly say the same about yourself--that if it weren't for his borderline frantic rutting, you might not have been sure of his enjoyment.

Catching on to your concern, Luke reaches down with his flesh hand to reassuringly stroke your skin, gently tracing from your thigh to your hip, across your stomach, and all the way to the swell of your breast. Your nipples are still puffy and sore from his relentless sucking and pinching, skin covered in the evidence of where his beard had scratched you. He feels a bit guilty, having marked you up so thoroughly like this, yet he also has a strange sense of pride at how you let him. If things go your way, you'll let him again and again and again--until your hunger is satisfied, which you're sure it never will be.

For as much as Luke is thoroughly attracted to you, however, he can feel his hunger start to reach its peak. Whether it be through the Force or your own pleasure, you can sense this, too, and it only serves to bring you into the early stages of orgasm as well.

"M-Master, I-," you whine, not even able to finish your thought as Luke brings his hand back up to rub your clit. He may be stubborn, and grumpy, but he is by no means selfish, especially not as a lover. Like with all things, he's determined to do this right. And he does--each thrust of his hips and tight circle rubbed by his thumb pushes you closer and closer, until finally you're pushed off that cliff and engulfed by the force of your orgasm. Twitching and spasming, legs shaking, you cry out as it overtakes your senses so spectacularly.

Luke watches you, completely in shock that he actually managed to do this--although you knew he would. Feeling you clench around him so deliciously is enough to motivate him to follow suit. Speeding up his pace one last time, positively hammering into you, he chases his own orgasm sloppily, desperately. Perhaps he hasn't had one in a long time, hasn't even had the desire to touch himself, so having you here to offer him some much needed relief truly is a godsend.

You're too blissed out and trembling in the aftershocks of your own orgasm to notice the way his hips stutter, finally stilling as he spills thick ropes of his seed inside you. In that moment, neither of you really care about the consequences--you don't think anything could happen, anyway--nor do you even really pause to contemplate them.

Luke stands before you, panting and slightly dazed, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead. Lowering your legs and pulling out--hot, white liquid spilling out of you as he does so--he adjusts his clothing and finally collapses beside you.

"That was, I..." you start, covering your face with your now-freed hands. "What are we now?"

Luke sighs. "We're something, I guess... something the Jedi of old wouldn't approve of." A glimpse at his old humor appears as he winks at you. "But they aren't here now, are they?"

You open your eyes to the sight of Luke asleep in your now shared bed. His hair is sprawled out on your pillow, long-lashed eyes still shut as he snores ever so lightly. The morning light bathes his sleeping face in a surprisingly lovely way, illuminating the soft, vulnerable side of an otherwise stoic and dignified Jedi master. His arm is still around you, mechanical hand resting at the small of your back--he still prefers to touch you intimately with his flesh hand, but by instinct, he'll use his cybernetic. You don't mind one bit, and he knows this. It brings him peace. Hence where he is now: entangled with you, beneath your covers, mind somewhere off in the realm of dreams.

"Oh, Skywalker..." you whisper, careful not to wake him. You can't tell whether you're talking to him, or really just talking to yourself. It isn't important. Taking a moment to pause, to think, you take a deep breath and say it--"...I love you."

Luke stirs, and you wince. Was it too soon? Is that not how he sees your relationship? He could wake up any minute and reject you and-

"Love you, too," he murmurs, not even opening his eyes, face still buried in his pillow.

Relief washes over you, but so does a strange new feeling... surprise? Excitement? Fear, even? No, no, it can't be anything bad... So you decide to accept it for what it is: something you can't explain, yet something that brings so much hope, so much meaning to your life. And, for the first time in a long time, you're happy--and he is, too.

[margareth-lv]

🤕 No pain, no gain 🤕

There's an old saying that goes something like:

You know, the idea that everything ultimately has a cost and nothing in life is truly free.

In this context, the comment @auburncurlslass under my Saturday note gave me food for thought:

Another thought…..how did the B list actress score a seat next to the lead A list actor?? Does Bradley really know Caitriona? If so, how or what is the connection?🧐🧐🧐🧐

*** *** ***

Perhaps my reasoning is too simple, too simplistic. Perhaps the flow of my associations is also too simplistic, perhaps by simplifying I am making a mistake in my reasoning. I take this into account. Especially since I'm making my argument based on a few photos published on Instagram, not based on hard data. But what do we see from a few photos on Instagram?

(By the way, let's not forget that Sam flew to the USA at the time, so there's no doubt that Sam and Caitriona lead completely separate lives and have nothing in common. After all, nobody remembers that they both dropped off the radar in previous weeks. Sure, they weren't in the SM, but they couldn't have been together in real life at the time, as they lead completely separate lives, as they have repeatedly emphasised).

*** *** ***

Well, the course of events, reconstructed from several photos published on Instagram, is that on Wednesday 29 November 2023, Caitriona was standing (with a strange expression on her face) next to a half-dead and unwashed PA (a man who has always and for years had no career and no social media presence). She allowed her (and her PA's) photograph to be taken and published by GettyImages.

They appeared together at the special screening after party for 'Leave The World Behind'.

By the way, isn't the title significant?

This is proof #1.

*** *** ***

Two days later, on Friday 2 December 2023, a completely transformed Cait, with a beaming smile on her relaxed face, poses for a photo with the actress who plays one of the main roles in the film 'Maestro', Carey Mulligan.

We later learn that Cait was invited to an 'intimate lunch' organised by agency Finch+Partners to celebrate #MaestroFilm, directed and starring Bradley Cooper.

[Side note: ‚Maestro’ centers on the relationship between American composer Leonard Bernstein and his wife Felicia Montealegre. The film stars Carey Mulligan as Montealegre alongside Cooper as Bernstein. The film was scheduled for a limited theatrical release on November 22, 2023, before streaming on Netflix on December 20. It received positive reviews from critics. Source: Wikipedia]

During the lunch, Caitriona sits at the table next to Cooper, in front of Carey Mulligan (can you think of a better place to sit at the table?) and laughs at the jokes Charles Finch tells. How did she get there?

This is evidence #2.

Of course, there's no sign of the PA at lunch, it's a meeting in a small circle of trusted people. Caitríona doesn't flinch nervously, but laughs out loud.

*** *** ***

I search Google for a while. The agency Finch+Partners has Lionsgate as a client.

As well as Chanel and DeBeers, among many others.

The connection between Finch+Partners, Cait and Lionsgate is obvious.

Could it be that Wednesday's PA photo was the price she paid for the opportunity to have lunch with Bradley Cooper?

No pain, no gain. And there's no such thing as a free lunch.

The Finch+Partners connection to Cait, Chanel and DeBeers is more fun.

It leads straight to Eleanor May Tomlinson, 31, an English actress.

After all, both Cait and Eleanor are kissing the same guy. This is bound to lead to some amusing associations.

... like the same jumpsuit from Finch+Partners client, Chanel.

*** *** ***

And two years earlier, a shared presence at DeBeers Jewellers London Flagship Store opening event (24 November 2021):

Without a doubt, this is a small world.

💰💰💰

And you see: obedience pays.

If you know your place in the ranks, listen to your bosses and stick to the script of your life written by psychopaths, you can expect to reap the rewards.

Lunching with Bradley Cooper.

Wearing the beautiful clothes of Chanel.

[December 4, 2023]

[celaenaeiln]

On the subject of Bruce, Dick, and the Titans, do you think part of Bruce’s issues stem from jealousy?

Like being jealous over the fact that after his parents died he struggled for so long with only Alfred and it took Dick to break through that and help him cultivate a genuine sense of family again, but now Dick is branching out and expanding his family while Bruce hasn’t been able to do that (at the point of Dick being fired)

Follow up to that, do you think that if it is partially jealousy and insecurity, do you think it’s a contributing factor for Jason’s adoption? Not just that he wanted to help another kid but also because he subconsciously wanted to show Dick/ mimic Dick in being able to move past the tragedy of his past by finding new family. Like a shitty slightly spiteful move of ‘hey you’re moving on and doing better but look so am I!’ even if it’s not exactly true. Sort of like pretending your dating someone at a party your ex is at even tho ur still grieving the relationship and not over ur ex.

Other sidenote, love your posts and whenever I come on tumblr I check to see if you’ve posted. Hope you are having a good day ❤️

Thank you!!

So for the first one, Bruce wouldn't exactly be jealous of Dick for having a support system. He wants Dick to be happy.

Outsiders (2003) Issue #29

But he also doesn't want Dick to go. He's jealous that he has to share Dick's attention and his jealousy stems from the fact that he isn't the one Dick goes to.

The second one is spot on!!! OOF THE ANALOGY WAS TOO GOOD!!!!

The main reason for adopting Jason was not just because he wanted to help him, but because Bruce was jealous and angry and hurt that Dick left. That he chose the Titans over him.

Batman (1940) Issue #416

Like you said, "hey you’re moving on and doing better but look so am I!"

In the other version Bruce literally fires him, and it's name-called, for Dick's devotion to the Titans.

I think it's sometimes hard to reconcile Bruce's relationship with Dick because of how many Robins and how much the family has grown but Dick and Bruce's relationship is different.

Batman: Court of Owls Issue #1

"Dick, you know me better than anyone, except perhaps for Alfred..."

It was and is always going to be Dick and Bruce. The Titans call them out on it, the batfamily calls them out on it, that's just the way things are.

So imagine someone you're this deeply connected to, your lifeline, leaving you for someone else. The Jealousy tore him apart and Bruce does what Bruce does best when he's hurt - he pushes people away.

Dick has talked Bruce out of everything in his life. If he didn't have amnesia and become Ric Grayson, Bruce's mental state would not have taken a downward spiral. During his post-Selina leaving him at the alter- nightmares, he has one where Selina is dying and Bruce says, "this is just like Dick."

Batman (2016) Issue #63

Nightmares about Dick's death are bleeding over into his nightmares of Selina's.

Batman (2016) Issue #63

It wasn't altruism which made him make the move, it was spite.

I made a post a long time ago for an ask that asked me about Dick and Bruce's complicated relationship that really goes into depth about why the two of them are inseparable. Dick's said it himself too in the action comics. They both knew the partnership was going to end because Dick wanted to leave but Bruce couldn't let him go so he decided to hurt Dick before Dick could hurt him.

He's canonically described as a foil to Batman. So, yes, by Batman's own admission, Dick is the person who knows him best so jealousy of Dick leading a life, prioritizing people that aren't him, plays a huge role in his actions and interactions with Dick.

[abandoned-quiche]

question for any and all monsters; if you were human, what soul type do you think youd be?

(ooc list so mod doesn't have to go look em all up)

HELLO !

IT APPEARS THAT, FOR ONE REASON OR AN OTHER, OR PERHAPS NO REASON AT ALL, YOUR QUESTION HAS FOUND ITS WAY TO ME.

WHAT A JOY !

SO!

"SOUL TYPES"!

IT HAS LONG BEEN DEBATED IN THE SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE THE CAUSE OF DIFFERENT COLORS OF SOULS IN HUMANS.

IT APPEARS TO, IN SOME WAY, RELATE TO THE PERSONALITY OF THE INDIVIDUAL, BUT IT IS UNCLEAR HOW.

I UNDERSTAND THAT,

ONE WAY OR AN OTHER,

IT HAS BECOME YOUR BELIEF THAT THESE ARE THE SEVEN "SOUL TYPES".

BRAVERY.

JUSTICE.

INTEGRITY.

KINDNESS.

PERSEVERANCE.

PATIENCE.

"DETERMINATION."

THIS IS NOT SO.

THOUGH,

I CANNOT BLAME YOU

FOR COMING TO THIS CONCLUSION

WITH A SAMPLE SIZE OF ONLY

EIGHT.

IN REALITY, THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS "SOUL TYPES".

THESE ARE MERELY

CHARACTER TRAITS

PRESENT IN THE SIX FALLEN HUMANS BEFORE FRISK.

MOST HUMAN SOULS ARE SOME SHADE OF ONE OF THE COLORS ABOVE,

BUT A HUMAN SOUL CAN COME IN JUST ABOUT ANY COLOR.

A BEAUTIFUL RAINBOW OF HUMANITY'S PUREST ESSENCE.

ISN'T THAT WONDERFUL?

. . .

AS FOR "DETERMINATION."

THIS SUBSTANCE IS PRESENT WITHIN ALL SOULS.

IT WAS DISCOVERED BY MY SUCCESSOR, DOCTOR ALPHYS!

SHE IS A WONDERFUL, WONDERFUL PERSON.

IF ONLY SHE COULD SEE THAT AS WELL.

. . .

I'D LIKE TO THINK, THAT IF I WERE A HUMAN, MY SOUL WOULD BE A NICE SHADE OF

PERIWINKLE.

NOT FOR ANY PARTICULAR REASON - I JUST LIKE THE COLOR!

. . .

THANK YOU

FOR THE QUESTION,

EVEN IF IT WAS NOT MEANT FOR ME.

IT IS ALWAYS

A DELIGHT

TO CONNECT WITH YOU ALL.

. . .

OH, AND MY APOLOGIES IF ANY OF MY TEXT IS HARD TO READ DUE TO THE COLORS.

I AM BEST SEEN IN THE DARKNESS!

[boots-with-the-fur-club]

Next part of the hand saga!

Prev, Next

@daboyau

@phoebepheebsphibs

@littlemissartemisia

@that0n3shr00mi3guy

“Answer our other questions first! I don’t trust you after everything you’ve done! After everything you’ve caused! You….you helped kill my brother!” Donnie screeches, hand on his tech bō shaking so badly out of anger he worries he might break it.

“I never meant for you to be harmed this way. You won’t believe me when I say it, but none of this was born from malice. I haven’t spoken until now because there was no need to. As for why I’ve been tormenting you….it’s for a reason you are not going to easily accept.”

“Just say it already!” Leon insists.

“I did it because I was asked to.”

Raph nearly hits the hand with his fist, just barely hitting the ground next to it.

“You think we asked for this!?”

“No. You didn’t. Someone else did.“

“Who!? Who would ask for this to happen to us!? To everyone else!?” Donnie asks.

“To put it simply, the people who made you.”

“W-We don’t even know our original parents….” Mikey comments.

“No, not just you. Your entire world. Everyone in this competition is formed from a collection of ideas from an author or authors. These authors gave you the titles you go by. They sent you here to compete. To meet other characters in their own stories. To promote their own stories. That’s how this started. No Fun in Fungus, they simply sent an “ask” of mushrooms, spores. Then your author wanted more, one for each of you.”

“What possible reason could there be for doing this to us!?” Donnie grits his teeth.

“To give more to your story. To bring you all closer together. I too was created in this way, for this purpose. I have merely been a tool to different beings. It may sound ridiculous, maybe even insensitive, tragic, but you should consider what you have gotten. What you’ve learned. When Karai was brought here, you were even told not to think too hard about such a concept.”

Each of the brothers want to make the argument that it’s crazy, but they do in fact remember what the competition mod said to them.

“Even Misa giving you those flowers was an ask sent by an author. These asks…..they were all in good fun. Hurting you was just to make comfort all the better. You were never supposed to die. You were never even supposed to be seriously injured. I just enjoyed seeing all the stories coming from the spores so much. It’s gone too far. It’s why I want to help now, before someone is killed in a way they can’t come back from. No Fun in Fungus was already over, they were supposed to rest. You all still have a lot of story left to tell, it’s not supposed to end here.”

The four of them take in this crazy amount of information they’ve just been told. Can they really trust the hand after all they’ve been through?

“What can you even do to help?” Leon questions angrily.

“The spores are not the only item I possess, as you know. I am intertwined into your and No Fun in Fungus’ storylines. For that reason, I am able to bring out what is called a plot device.” The hand moves to the side, revealing TNT charges connected to an empty base.

“There’s nothing in there.” Donnies says dryly.

“Sometimes plot devices are there to urge the story forward in different ways. In order for this to work, I need mystic energy from each of you. That may be difficult for Michelangelo in his current state, perhaps I could find another one-“

“Mikey, my brother I love so much, I did not bring you back from the dead for you to kill yourself again. Lay. Down.” Leon threatens.

Mikey lays back down.

“It does not have to be him. Because of your being separated at first, you haven’t had the chance to completely understand ninpo. It seems only Mikey truly has.” The hand explains.

“You mean the sacrificial martyrs? Why would we want to know about them? Mikey’s been doing that way too much already!” Leon complains.

“Hamato have sacrificed themselves numerous times, that is true. You’ve seen it be true. Ninpo isn’t inherently about dying for a cause. It’s just how it’s been used a lot, considered the only way. It also has been used to save. Out of love. You’ve seen that too. Ninpo is about the connection to your family. That’s why Donatello was able to use it. That’s why Mikey woke up and used it. When you’re about to lose who you hold dear, your connection strengthens more than ever.”

DvD glances at Mikey. They stare at each other for a second or two. It’s true that they’ve been through an experience nobody else could, or should, truly replicate.

Maybe DvD sort of understands why the NFIF group are the way they are. Obviously he knows how it feels to want to protect his brothers after almost losing them, but what he’s learning is why they’re so willing to throw away their lives even for people who just look vaguely like family.

It’s so much easier to experience pain than to experience someone you love going through pain.

It’s a sentiment he wouldn’t have even considered before everything they’ve been through. Something Draxum never would have let him ponder.

He loves his family.

It’s messed up, they lost years of being able to know each other, there was so much distrust, and things aren’t even close to perfect right now.

But this is his family.

Even April, who has zero blood relation to them but still went through all this just to help.

Misa, who’s yearned for family and takes the role of an elder sibling because she wants to take care of others despite her young age.

Karai, who is related to them but wasn’t originally even supposed to know them if her mission had succeeded.

Something he’d protect with his life.

The hand brings the container closer. DvD looks back at it and hesitantly puts his hand on it. A purple, glowy, shiny substance pours inside. He takes it back after a moment, feeling like he was drained a little bit, but otherwise fine.

Raph and Leo look down at it in surprise before the latter takes on more of a bitter expression.

“I’m the one who took care of Mikey. I protected him. I did my best every single day for years to feed him, clothe him, give him what he needs. I was there for him longer than any of you. Why don’t I have powers like him and Donnie? Are….are they closer….than we are?” Leon frowns deeply.

“No! Leo, I love you just as much! I promise! That’s not how it is-!” Mikey voice cracks from how raw his throat still is.

Raph gently rubs his shell.

“He’s right. Connection to family doesn’t mean how much you love them, but how you think about yourself in relation to them. Insecurity about your place in it.” The hand stares.

Leo feels all eyes on him and starts messing with the material on his pants to avoid addressing what was just said.

“Welp, no insecurity here. Must be something else.”

“The fate of the multiverse might be in danger at this point, you’re going to avoid talking about what we already practically know? Why you left Mikey before-“

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Leo yells, interrupting.

He holds onto Mikey tighter.

Mikey presses his cheek against Leo’s and nuzzles into it as much as possible.

“I….I haven’t….gotten over anything. When I got spored, it reminded me of everything I’m afraid of. I….I…..still can’t accept that any of you love me! I-It’s hard work to even like me, loving me? I-Impossible! Nobody actually does! I-I made Mikey feel like he has to be loyal to me because I took him in. I forced him to never leave me and then I left him! And then he forgave me because he’s so nice and lovable! He’s a pretty painted picture but I’m just a bunch of shredded pieces that I can’t tape back together! Why can’t someone just finally sweep it all up into the trash!?” Leo sobs.

Raph, Donnie and Mikey’s jaws all drop. They’ve been aware of just how hard it’s been for Leo to understand that he’s wanted, a real, true part of the family. What they didn’t know is just how lowly he really thinks of himself.

Leo sniffles.

“I’m cursed. I always have been. Even if I am a part of this family, I shouldn’t be. Look what happened! To Mikey! To gram-gram! To all of you! Not just now, but before too! And you saw what happened to the NFIF guys! Leo helped feed me and Mikey and then he went missing and I just know whatever is happening in that room to him is awful! NFIF Raph held me and tried to protect me and he’s still back there too! You’re all going to get hurt or die or worse with me around! I-I should be alone, I should at least be punished for everything I’ve-!”

DvD, surprisingly, is the one who pulls Leo into as tight of a hug as he can manage without hurting him.

“Shut up.”

“Wh-What? Is….is this supposed to make me feel better or are you angry?”

“Both! The only person who thinks you’re not worth anything is you! How dare you say that I don’t care about you!? I do! You should care about you too! You want to stop being a burden!? Then don’t make us live without you! If you weren’t here, Mikey would be dead right now. If he hadn’t wanted to be with you and didn’t leave those families, we wouldn’t have this family. We wouldn’t have found each other. Give yourself more credit.”

Leo goes back to hiccuping sobs as he buries his face in DvD’s shoulder.

Mikey starts crying as well, despite how much he’s already been doing.

“I-I’ll rip up my picture a-and we can make one up ourselves! I-I can give you tape! J-Just please, d-don’t go again! I-I love you so much!”

Leo pulls him more into the hug, they wet each other’s faces with their tears.

Raph wraps around them all.

“You told that other me before about how you know he’s not a bad guy. How we’ve all made mistakes. You should give yourself the same benefit of the doubt. You aren’t cursed, bad things……just happen. A lot. What was going to happen to the NFIF guys would have without meeting you. But now because they met us, we can help them. There’s not a day that goes by where I’m not glad you’re in the family, Leo. I love that I know you. I love you.” He rest his chin on top of Leo’s head.

Leo and Mikey keep crying until they’ve finally calmed down.

The hand once again offers the container towards Leo.

“How….do I do it?”

“Think of your family as a something within you, and release it. Raphael, you as well.” The hand urges.

“What? Me? But didn’t have any breakthrough or anything…..”

“Right now is the moment you feel closest to your family. It may also help to remember who is not here, and wanting to get her back.”

Leo and Raph nod, both placing their hands on the container. Red and blue pours in before the hand takes it away.

“Where…..are you going to find a replacement for me?” Mikey brings up.

April suddenly bursts inside the room.

“You guys! He took Misa!”

April had kept walking until they could no long hear Mikey scream. It took everything she had to not go back to help. Misa wanted to go back too, but as grown up as she thinks she is, nobody should be seeing that.

Nobody should be experiencing that.

It’s not like the turtles were adults either. They shouldn’t have to listen to their brother scream and beg for the nightmare to end. It’s something they have to do though because the only good adult they have around has been taken.

It’s painful to not be able to do anything else, but this is incredibly important. Misa needs her right now.

“Is….little big brother….going to be okay?” Misa asks, looking up at her with wide eyes.

“He’s got everyone else with him, they’re going to do whatever he needs them to.” April assures.

Misa looks down.

“I want to help Raphie too.”

April bites them inside of her cheek. Guilt for leaving him is gnawing at her as well. Wasn’t there anything else she could have done? All that guy has being doing this whole competition is trying to protect everyone from the spores.

Who protects him?

“We’re going to, when we have a plan.”

“But….but it’s going to be too late!” Misa whines.

“Hey, we don’t know that. Maybe….maybe the void guys helped out and he’s coming back to us now!” April suggests, vaguely aware it’s probably a huge lie.

Misa pouts until footsteps draw her and April’s attention.

“Raphie!!” Misa shouts excitedly shouts, wriggling out of April’s arms.

“Misa! Wait!” April reaches out too late.

The young girl runs up to NFIF Raph who picks her up. They smile at each other.

“Hey, kid. Glad I found ya. I have something real important I need you to do.”

“How can Misa help?”

“I need to borrow your portal sword.”

Misa gladly hands it to him.

April sees a glowing, blue tear roll down his cheek.

“Misa! Get away from him!”

Misa looks at her in confusion before seeing Raph’s eyes fill with blue. She begins grabbing at her sword but he keeps it out of her reach. He then holds her tight, close to his plastron and tucked under his arm.

Raph’s smile falls. The glowing tears fall freely down his cheeks with no signs of stopping. He looks over at April with a sorrowful expression.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise. I really tried. I just….there’s no reason for me to fight anymore. My family is all back there. Even if I did fight, everything I do fails.”

“Raph! That’s not true! Fight it, we can save your brothers together! You don’t have to do this!”

“No, doing this is the only way he won’t hurt Misa. It had to be me. All we need is the sword and to use her as bait. She’ll be okay. I’d promise, but….my promises don’t mean much…..” He opens a portal.

“No! Raph! Misa!” April poofs to get close, but ends up falling on top of nothing after the portal disappears.

“Where did he take her!? Back to that room!? Are they sporing her again!? She can’t survive that! Mikey didn’t!” DvD panics.

“Hold on, what do you mean he didn’t-WHY IS THE HAND HERE!? IS THAT TNT!?” April points.

“Be not afraid-“

“IT TALKS!?”

UIFY Raph explains what happened. April feels like her feet are stuck to the floor. It’s only been 15 minutes and things somehow turned even more disastrous.

“H-How are we going get more ninpo!? That could kill Mikey again!”

“It can come from you-“ The hand starts.

April slams her hand onto the container.

“I want to save them! Please work! Do your magic thingy!”

Shockingly, it does work. Green pours into the container and the colors all being swirling with each other. They glow even brighter.

“This should be enough. I can set up the charge behind the wall that houses the main mushroom.”

“Wait, won’t that hurt the other me?” Leo brings up.

“He’s survived worse.”

“That’s not a good reason!”

“He’ll be alive and the spores will be gone. Is that not what you want?”

“It is, but-!”

The lights suddenly shut off.

DvD quickly turns on the light from his phone.

“Oh what now!?”

“Hello everyone in the competition! It’s your new overlord, Audrey III!” Donnie’s voice calls from a speaker in the room.

Oh no.

DvD quickly searches the room for some medical masks which he puts on and passes out to his brothers and April once they’re found. If he thinks what’s about to happen is really happening, they need protection.

Leo careful puts Mikey’s on for him and then carries him on his back as they all leave the room.

There’s panic and chaos everywhere from the sudden darkness. People are bumping into things and shouting.

The nearby vents start releasing the familiar, sickening spores.

“Don’t resist. Or do, your fear is tastier that way.”

[rahuratna]

Hi Rahu!!! My Nanami-loving, schmutt-reading, STEM-girlie, critical-thinker friend! Today I bring up a character who I have been actively avoiding thinking about: the one and only Satoru Gojo.

My overall reactions to Gojo are very mixed. Season one, I didn’t really pay him any mind. Season two, his his fighting scenes though 🫣🫣🫣 Let’s say I finally understood the appeal.

This morning (it is 3 AM), I’d like to discuss Gojo’s perceived loneliness. Maybe another time, when I take a deeper dive into how Gojo’s powers actually work, we could talk about calculus? But these are just fragmented thoughts floating around my head. I just have random questions on when Gojo had to learn calculus for his technique (he seems like the type to sleep through the lessons… did Yaga force him to study??) and what happens if you duplicate a Gojo and divide his infinity by another infinity. You get indeterminate and what happens then?

Uhh, anyways 🙂‍↕️

——————————//——————————

Context: For me, I found it really hard to see Gojo as an individual person. Until recently, I only really payed attention to Gojo and Geto as a pair. That’s why I want to take some time to look at things through Gojo’s perspective of the transition to independence… because I’ve been actively procrastinating thinking about it despite drawing thirst traps of him—

Question: Is Gojo lonely? At first I said yes, but my only reason was because I solely focused on what he doesn’t have: Geto. And that’s quite simplistic of me. I didn’t acknowledge the type of relationships he had with his colleagues and his students because I only viewed Gojo as half of a pair to Geto. That is why I would like to revisit the reasons why I (and perhaps other members of the JJK community) think that Gojo is lonely, specifically through a comparative, discourse, thematic analysis the lenses of his different relationships.

Discussion: I think about how in our previous discussion, we talked about how Gojo did not need Geto anymore as a moral compass after the Riko incident. In this way, Gojo outgrew his friendship with Geto not only because of their different values (remember how their ideologies were always opposite of each others), but rather because of the extent to which they commit themselves to their ideals. This means that Gojo would not change who he is and his beliefs for Geto. It shows the beginning of Gojo’s independence as he becomes more rooted in the cause he fights for.

Is this independence— through motives and strength— a big factor into this perceived loneliness? Yes, I think so. He lost Geto because of the magnitude of their commitment to different beliefs, and his strength mitigates any room for reliance/codependence of his colleagues. But it also brings up the following question: to what extent does Gojo create meaningful connections with others besides Geto, and how does this change the initial hypothesis of perceived loneliness?

It is 4:00 AM and I am a slow and exhausted… so I’ll leave the conversation pretty much open and on this note:

I think it’s easy for an outside observer to compare Gojo’s connection with Geto with the one he had to his peers and his students. It initially seems so small compared to the enormity of what Gojo and Geto were. But that isn’t necessarily true. Here, the value of the different types of relationships we have are subjective. If I were to make a guess, Gojo does not undervalue his other relationships even if he’s not as close to them. He does not consciously put the value of relationships on a scale trying to determine which is more meaningful and which is less. Especially with his students. This is why I think that perhaps I had previously overestimated perceived loneliness. It was because of a narrow-minded outlook focusing only on loss rather than what he gained.

That’s it for now, but perhaps when I wake up I’ll be adding a couple more ideas that I missed in the comments. In general, I don’t think I added much that was insightful… it was more sort of a detailed prompt. But I think that’s cool too since I love hearing about what you have to say! Happy Friday, Rahu, and enjoy the weekend ahead!

Courtney 🧡💜

Hi Courtttttt!! @courtneedsleep *rubs hands* It's time to chat about Gojo! But seriously, thank you for this. I've been actively looking for a proper outlet to explore my own thoughts on this man, and you have PROVIDED. And I would LOVE a deep dive into the calculus, but I'm going to leave that for another juicy analysis, since this is one is already pretty long. 

I definitely saw the appeal of his character from the beginning, but like you, didn't really feel particularly attached to him. He was charming. He was funny. Obviously very powerful and exceptionally confident in his own abilities.

In the beginning, I didn't perceive him as particularly lonely, considering the flippancy with which he seemed to process deeper emotions. It was during the exchange event arc that I began to see the layers to his character.

The concern he showed for his students seemed overshadowed by his own devil-may-care attitude, but later highlighted the faith he had in their abilities. Outwardly, he seemed flippant, as always. But when I re-watched, in the context of what I learned about his character later, his actions took on a new significance.

It starts with his training of Yuuji and Yuuta. Gojo specifically selects these boys who are marked as pariahs, even in the jujutsu world, for the power and potential for great destruction they represent. He devotes himself to their training and shows delight at their development. I realised, as I continued watching, that this delight wasn't so much directed at the evolution  of their power, but the evolution of their souls and characters, things he knew would be singularly defining in their development as the powerful sorcerers they became.

Yuuji and Yuuta were later able to overcome fear, uncertainty, their own weaknesses and more importantly, embrace their own weaknesses in order to become not just very strong, but utterly exceptional sorcerers in their own right. A lot of this was not just due to Gojo's mentorship, but his unwavering belief in them.

On my first watch of season 1, I thought that he showed disappointingly little reaction when Yuuji 'died' after having his heart ripped out. Now knowing just what kind of losses Gojo suffered over time, and the brutal nature of the world of sorcery, I understand better just how much gravity he expressed when he thought that Yuuji was dead.

This brings me to the subject of his loneliness. You're absolutely right about the tendency to view him and Geto as a 'pair', and thus weave their character development inextricably together in our minds. I also had this tendency, when I started watching season 2, but I suppose my awareness of the potential depth of Gojo's character left me looking for more. I wanted to see this formative stage in his evolution as a sorcerer, how what happened with Geto might have transformed his thought processes on many things in the jujutsu world.

The significance of Geto to Gojo, and vice versa, cannot be understated. It is obvious, from their interaction, how much they valued and respected each other, and were also kindred spirits looking to right wrongs in jujutsu society. As we touched on in a previous discussion,  the rift came after Riko's death, and the manner in which they both processed that.

Gojo's independence, as much as it is flaunted, also has its limits. Throughout the time I noted the rift with Geto forming, I also wondered how much of Gojo's change also occurred because of the subtle brainwashing that came with being openly acknowledged (and self aware) as the 'strongest sorcerer' of modern times. In the end, he truly did become a weapon, as tragic a fate as the one suffered by Geto. His fierce belief that he HAD to enact some form of change in the jujutsu world was also a form of conditioning, based on his abilities. It was much easier for everyone to identify the flaws in Geto's thinking because he was on the wrong side. The curse user side.

Gojo's loneliness is apparent, but not because he doesn't have real connections, or people who care for him (and people he cares for). His interaction with Nanami, for me, is one that highlights this. Gojo's power is terrifying to those not on the same side, as seen in the Shibuya arc, where an entire plan (and many sacrifices) were foreseen by the enemy, simply to seal him away. And yet, he places so much value on leaving Yuuji in the care of a sorcerer like Nanami, someone strong, intelligent and competent, but not in the same league as Gojo, power-wise.

Why? Because, as we learn, Gojo does value compassion, heart, dedication to a cause, and the lives of the younger generation, all qualities and beliefs enshrined in the core of what makes Nanami the type of sorcerer he is. Gojo cares for Nanami and values him as a friend, not just because he is one of the old guard, but because he genuinely cherishes everything that Nanami represents as a sorcerer and a human being. He may have irritated the living daylights out of Nanami, but at the end of it all, they had each other to fall back on, when all else in the world of sorcery failed the very tenets of what they believed was right.

So, in what way was Gojo truly lonely? In the way that reaching the rarefied heights of true power can make you. He was alone in ability, in the precocious genius of sorcery he was, in the role he was subconsciously forced to take on as a natural result of what he represented in jujutsu society. Returning to the idea of his conditioning, he could have taken no responsilbility at all, maybe even followed the same path as Geto. But he didn't. Not even the bone-deep kinship he felt for Geto could turn him away from his core beliefs and the role he knew he needed to play,  not just for others, but for his own peace of mind.

One could say that Gojo's loneliness was self-imposed, in a sense. One could also take some comfort in the fact that this self-imposed isolation was precisely because of how much he cared for and valued those around him.

Gojo knew how much his students, colleagues and friends valued him. He knew the sacrifices they'd have to make, in order to survive the brutal world they existed in. He knew that like him, they'd experience loss, death (in some cases, their own), fear, moments of hopelessness, defeat and overwhelming odds. He also knew, with some unerring certainty, that they would rise above those challenges and face their fates with courage, dignity and the fierce hope that is born from experiencing true despair.

How did he know this? One can only speculate. I do think, however, that it stemmed from a torch he had passed on, an unquenchable fire, a tenacity that showcases itself clearly in his students and successors. Gojo had such faith that his will would be passed on, that they would win. In this, he was never truly alone.

Thank you for yet another beautiful analysis and ask (I rambled so much with this one, because I have so many THOUGHTS) and I appreciate all the analytical meals you feed me!

[ffc1cb]

new art blog

the short version:

1. i made a new art blog: @cbge;

2. @ffc1cb will stay up as an archive.

the long version:

hi everyone. this announcement is somewhat late, since the blog in question has been up for a few months now, and i’ve already started posting art on it. the reason it took me so long to “reveal” it is because i’ve been trying to figure out whether a new blog is something i actually want, or if it's just me throwing darts at a board, trying to make myself feel better somehow.

i don’t know when precisely it all started, but ever since sometime last year i’ve been going through a hard time, both emotionally and creatively. i’m not sure whether being depressed is what made art harder, or art becoming harder is what made me depressed (a bit of both, i think), but lately, drawing has been a struggle. 

i’ve found myself having less and less energy for art, and this lack of energy resulted in poorer quality of drawings, which resulted in me feeling like i’m getting worse at it, despite my efforts. i knew i could make good art, art that i’m proud of - i’ve done so countless times before, - but somehow it felt like i just couldn’t anymore, like my hands forgot how to. nothing looked right. 

i’ve been trying to experiment. i’ve learned some new things, tried this and that - it was enlightening, to say the least, and even though i kind of liked how it looked, it made me feel a sense of displacement. i was at odds with myself, my art, and how i felt about it, when previously i was always in sync. i was making art, yes, and it looked nice, but it felt like it wasn’t mine.

i suppose part of it was also the growing lack of engagement, and i don’t mean likes and reblogs - i never particularly cared about those. they are all just numbers to me; dry and impersonal. what i’m talking about is actual, human interactions: personal thoughts in tags, asks, replies, etc. a conversation. 

i don’t mean to sound “old” or anything, but i remember when talking to artists online was more commonplace. my wife tells me it’s because the internet culture has changed over the years, that people have become more reclusive, less willing to be open with their thoughts, and she's probably right, but in my slump i find it hard to believe. somehow it feels like it’s my fault for being less “engaging”, for seeming unapproachable or perhaps intimidating. maybe it’s “just a skill issue”, maybe it’s because i have stopped churning out fanart for popular fandoms, maybe it’s because i refuse to torture myself emotionally by having an art account on twitter (i can’t fucking stand the place anymore; i still post nsfw art there, but only because it’s literally one of the only places on the internet that allows you to do so. i miss when you could post female presenting tits on tumblr).

i have always, ever since i started posting art on the internet back in 2012, done it for human connection. i wanted to talk to people, and have people talk to me. i wanted to inspire people with my art, and i wanted to bring them comfort. i wanted to elicit an emotional response, and have people tell me about it. it was one of the main reasons i drew in the first place; having lost that, i’ve been struggling to stay passionate about making art.

i miss being a small artist on the internet during the 2010s. i remember when i could make a post going, “hey everyone, how are you all doing today?” and it would not seem weird to people in the slightest. it is just me? does anyone else feel that way? am i too deep in my own head? the internet feels so unwelcoming nowadays, especially to artists. we are all just content machines; people scroll by our stuff, or maybe look at it for half a second and leave a like before scrolling away. i know it’s unfair to demand people’s attention, especially now when our lives are already so overwhelmed by everything - no one has the energy to pay closer attention; i myself am not immune to mindless scrolling. but it feels bad. i wish we were all sincere and enthusiastic again.

anyway (sorry for rambling. i hope i haven’t bored you to death), you might want to say, okay, but how is making a new art blog on a “dying” social platform going to help with any of that? the truth is, i don’t know. i just felt like i needed a change. 

i’ve been running this blog since 2016 (that’s almost 8 full years!). i feel incredibly attached to it, but at the same time, i feel it weighing me down. 

there are people who followed me years ago for one specific thing, still expecting me to post about said thing (i still find it mindboggling that some people follow artists for a specific fandom only, but that is a whole other matter for a whole other post that i will never write). a third, if not half, of my following are probably dead blogs. and with my current struggle with trying to regain the joy i once felt for making art, looking back at all the art i’ve done over the years makes me feel tired. i still love it all; it’s all very dear to me. i’m proud of it; looking at it makes me mourn my younger and more passionate self.

so i’ve decided to make a new blog, where i will let myself post whatever i want, in whatever stage of donness i feel like. maybe it will help me, somehow. maybe it won’t. but if you care about my art, if you want to keep following me on my artistic journey, i welcome you to join me there. similarly, feel free not to - no hard feelings.

thank you everyone for your support over the years; it matters a lot to me. i’m not planning to delete or private this blog; it will stay up, and i will still be reachable on here. i will still answer asks, if there will be any. i’m just not planning to post any art here anymore. this is it for my dear old friend ffc1cb.

i can be found in other places:

@cbge, as mentioned earlier,

@k0nstanta, an art blog dedicated solely to my wife and i’s ocs,

@inquisimail, a dragon age ask blog that has become my dragon age sideblog in general,

and multiple other blogs, none of which are art related, but feel free to ask, if you’re curious.

thank you very much for reading all of this. i hope you have a wonderful day.

[coolingrosa]

Honestly about nightmare....it upset me quite a bit how he just didn't at all understand why Killer was acting out like this. It felt so obvious? Like with Dust showing up and Killer acting out in response to it....Unless this is a common occurrence? I am really wondering what nightmare thought about this, if he even tried to read Killer and his behaviour or perhaps ask Dust about the relationship between the two. Did he just not think anything about it? Just assume "oh its a kid throwing a tantrum, it'll pass"? Man i'd rly like to know it from his perspective. Maybe he is used to ppl throwing tantrums, considering I am pretty sure error flips out a lot too. I guess the problem hereby lies with the fact error is an immortal and an adult and killer,.,,is not. and nightmare just simple doesn't distinguish the two properly.

But honestly I think nightmare should have known better than to snap at Killer ToT..... I believe that him snapping did ultimately the most damage, error just kinda added a bit more salt to it to be put it simple. After all Killer favoured Nightmare obviously a lot more than Error, he was like a parent figure for him basically. So Nightmare snapping would mean a lot more than what Error says. I don't like how error told Killer that advice though, he basically just told him to "suck it up", in the pretense of "caring" for nightmare and not wanting to see him upset. It feels wrong to say that error cares though, because of how he is STILL stuck in the past. It almost feels like he is talking and giving advice to Killer more for himself than for nightmares sake.

Both error and nightmare are so inexperienced with mortals and so fucking mentally fucked up themselves, I doubt they will act any different unless someone who is a mortal corrects them...And I honestly thought Dust would do it? At one point it felt like he knew why Killer did it, but then it felt like he did not?

ultimate question however: how will nightmare react to Killers change? I wonder if alarm bells will ring or if he will just think that Killers "phase" finally passed. And I fear it'll be the latter.... So sorry for the long ass essay, I have SO many questions AND IT IS SO HARD TO TELL WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN AND HOW THIS MESS OF A MAKE-SHIFT FAMILY IS GOING TO DEVELOPE.....

You’re analysis is so wonderful and definitely the mixed emotions I wanted to give. Especially since good and evil doesn’t exist in Roseverse, just people and their actions. A lot of my YouTube and tiktok dragged on Dream solely for a while due to the limited knowledge, so chapter four was a big drop as it showed just how out of depth and horrible Nightmare and Error could be as well. I’m gonna try to answer each part of this the best I can without revealing too much!

1. Nightmare is used to Killer acting out, which happened a lot in the pilot, so he doesn’t put two and two together that these moments are connected- especially since Killer has never been put in a situation around him to show that he ALSO has jealousy issues as well as self esteem issues. For a while it was just them and sometimes Error in the castle, which Killer never showed an act of jealously towards- only distrust.

2. Nightmare’s perspective won’t be shown a lot in the next Bad Sanses chapter unfortunately, so I’ll try my best to explain his reasoning here. Don’t take it as a defense. I may explain characters and their actions, but at the end of the day, Nightmare is a adult and has a responsibility.

Nightmare’s main flaw (and I can now finally state this) is that he doesn’t care for people who are not under his radar. Saying he doesn’t know much about negative emotions is redundant, but his abilities to help with them have long since faded ever since the loss of Ink. Killer clearly is the product of a teenager with intense mental health issues, and Nightmare never got to see Ink as a bratty teenager. Killer is the only example around him and so he quite frankly sucks at it and sees his outbursts as…well…tantrums. He can’t fully see Killer for what he is and constantly sees him as a child due to his own age, and that belittling makes Killer’s emotions and rightful feelings come across as childish to Nightmare.

The mention of Error is also correct. Nightmare is used to emotional and violent outbursts since he was thirteen- especially from those close to him. Error and Nightmare as children weren’t healthy and Error was an abusive friend. I will always state that. However, though Error improved his ways, Nightmare never fully blamed him for such things and therefore never saw anything wrong with the people he loved lashing out and being hurtful. It’s normal for him- and also not smth to be addressed in his eyes. However, Killer is a child and as the adult, Nightmare has a responsibility to step in and correct his behavior with disciplinary action rather than passiveness. But, of course, he doesn’t until he finally snaps

3. Yeahhh I will say what Error told Killer didn’t bother him too much until he made the comment about Dust. Killer is far too use to the verbal abuse Error shoots at him that it rolled off of him and he was more annoyed Error was still in the room. Error and Killer just aren’t and will never be close enough for their fights to leave any impact. Nightmare, though? After finding out truly what Nightmare is capable of and then being told that? Oh, yeah, Killer is crushed.

4. This was one of the few times Error tried to actually help in his own way. Error doesn’t word himself well, even when being vulnerable. He hoped Killer would understand it as “there’s no need to lash out as ur already here and cared for. So just stop hating urself and others and finally feel secure. “ Was it not so great advice and easy to be misunderstood from what he actually meant? Yea. Did he just COMPLETELY miss the mark on mental health and the struggles of slowly getting over the fear of abandonment and the steps it takes to FEEL that security? YEAH LMAO. But Killer definitely misunderstood him as well. And Error also misunderstood something about Dust as well. I’ll expand more on that in my last point.

5. Dust may be smart, but he can’t put together a case without solid evidence and explanation and due to him not being there from the start, he doesn’t truly understand why Killer is acting like he is. He knows it has something to do with Nightmare, but what that actually is? He can’t know. I believe this won’t be a shock, but Dust does think Killer was being abused by Nightmare and therefore becomes like a guard dog. When Killer jumps him, that ideas gets thrown out the window and Dust is left utterly confused on the motives. He doesn’t hate him, though. He’s just confused, and hurt.

6. And unfortunately, Dust isn’t empathetic enough to be the one to truly understand things. Wonder who will be, though…

7. I cant say too much as that’s a chapter seven thing, but I will say it’s where Gus the immortal frog comes in (Killer’s pet) and given by Nightmare. I’m sure you can put two and two together as to why Nightmare, who is clueless about everything teenager related, is stooping to giving the apathetic Killer a pet 😭

8. Almost forgot this part but Killer is an unreliable narrator. He will always be, and the next bad Sanses chapter will see that, as it won’t be in his perspective solely. Everything he sees and thinks is unreliable. For example, when they reach the au and Dust is slowly blinking at him while Killer demands to know why he came too, Killer takes it as a threat. What if Dust actually doing? Blinking at him like he’s a angry cat bc Dust doesn’t understand emotions and defeats to animal behaviors to help soothe this teenager LMAO

[dododan]

Some thoughts on Alastor and his nature. I can say that he is a very complex character who is difficult to decipher.

I'm curious to see how else he will surprise us!

(I haven't had time to watch episode 5 yet, so these thoughts are mainly from the first 4 episodes).

I also have other thoughts on Hazbin Hotel, but they will appear in future posts ^^

Alastor's true motivations? - Why is he helping Charlie?

All in all, he doesn't want to analyse the pilot episode too much, even if it is confirmed to be canonical.

I'm more concerned with a minor fact - Charlie's phone call to her mother and Alastor's appearance. This is not my theory, and it flashed through my mind as I was browsing Shorts on YT. Unfortunately I am unable to find the Short, but I think a very pertinent theory was presented there.

At the point where Charlie is disappointed with the TV performance, she goes out and calls her mother. She asks her mother for advice, and we don't have to wait long and already Alastor appears outside the door.

Coincidence? I don't think so.

Alastor's own motivations are not clear. It's not really clear why he's 'helping' Charlie (in his own strange way - like when he's filming a hotel advert). I doubt he does it for the sheer fun and pleasure of watching someone else's failures. Rather, it would be an added benefit. In particular, we know that Alastor as well as Lilith disappeared for 7 years. About the reasons and circumstances of their disappearance we know practically nothing. But Alastor returned at the perfect time to help Charlie when she needed her mother's help the most.

It is a perfect coincidence, which is why I believe Lilith is behind it. How she forced Alastor or required him to help her - that's already harder to determine. But the two are somehow connected.

I don't know if the number 7 itself has any significance, but in the Bible it is considered a perfect number. Perhaps it has some deeper meaning….

The complicated nature of Alastor

In general, I really like Alastor's delicate and barely perceptible facial expressions and gestures. It's hard to figure him out is a fact. Alastor is unpredictable and a bit unpredictable, but who noticed how Alastor smiled wider when he was waiting for the girls' opinion on the first hotel commercial (Episode 1)?

It made me think a bit of Alastor waiting for praise. After all, he was a radio presenter in his lifetime, and in Hell he became famous as the Radio Demon. His stature at that moment, all the way screamed to me "look what I've done, brilliant right? Praise me!"

And Alastor was met with criticism. Did you see how he scratched the TV? Delicate cracks as Charlie began to list the flaws in the ad. It looked a bit like he was angry that they didn't like the ad or maybe angry at himself for not dealing the task? Maybe saying that he found the ad hilarious was a form of masking his failure? It seemed to me that saying that he hadn't contributed to Hell for a while and that radio was the only legitimate form of self-expression was also somehow meant to mask the fact that the ad didn't work out for him. It was as if he was shifting the blame to the girls for wanting a TV commercial and not a radio one. But one thing is for sure, Alastor is a perfectionist. Everything has to be his way and he has to have the final say. When the hotel commercial didn't work out, when it was Vaggie who was filming it, Alastor seemed to act like he was having a laugh. Something like that child's "you criticised me and it didn't work out for you either".